Poems 


POEMS 

By 

Henriette  de  Saussure  Blanding 
1909-1910 

[PRIVATELY  PRINTED  EDITION] 


San  Francisco,  California 
I  Q  I  I 


Ctfjright,  1911 

By 
GORDON  BLANDING 


Printed  T>y 

The  Stanley-Taylor  Company 
San  Francisco 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

The  Master  Touch        .         .         .         .         .         .""  i 

The  Cataract 2 

The  Poet's  Soul .  3 

Sunset  Land 6 

Sunset v         .  7 

Love 8 

On  Reading  Rosegger's  "Waldschulmeister"          .  9 

To  Eileen .  10 

Twilight ii 

"Beareth  all  things,  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all 

things,  endureth  all  things"    .         .         .         .12 

Beethoven  (Suggested  by  Lang's  "Odyssey")   .  14 
Epitaph  of  a  Nameless  Hero         .         .         .         .15 

On  Reading  Pater's  "Child  in  the  House"          .  15 

At  a  Concert \  16 

"The  Rest  Is  Silence" 17 

"Ah  Love!   could  you  and  I  with  Him  conspire"  .  18 

To  the  Wind 20 

Song     .         .         .  .       .   '  .         .  .21 

Dawn \         .  22 

Such  Is  My  Love          ......  23 

Aridness   .         .         .         .         .         .  24 

Liberty ,         .  25 

Beyond 26 

Cecily  .........  27 

Memories           .......  28 

Sea  Longing          . 30 


On  a  Portrait  by  Van  Dyck     ....  32 

Friends 33 

Storm 34 

Apart   .         . . 38 

Sandman's  Land        .         .         .         ...  41 

To  Katherine        .......  43 

Wordsworth  (after  reading  "Tintern  Abbey").  44 

Premonition           .......  45 

Song         .         .  :\     ,;       *•••  ^  .         .      v*;        •  46 

Death  in  Life •*  47 

Life's  Purpose 48 

Isolation        ........  49 

The  Nature  Lover    ...         .         .         .  50 

Absence 52 

To  Dicky 53 

Exile *         .  .54 

At  Dusk 55 

Spring  Song          .         .         .         .         .  56 

To  the  Skeptic          . 57 

Butterflies .         .  58 

Ashtoreth 59 

Sunlight  and  Shadow 61 

Revelation         .......  62 

From  a  Window  .......  63 

Two  Prayers     .         ...         .         .         .  64 

Moods  .         .         . 65 

Man          .         .....         .         .  66 

Solitude         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         -67 

Sea  Fog   .         .         .         .         .         ...  68 


The  Call  of  the  Sea      .  .         .         .         .69 

The  Matilija  Poppy  .....  71 

Resurrection          .         .  '      .  .         -73 

Noon  in  the  Sierra   .         .         .         ,         .         .  77 

Sunrise  Over  Shasta 80 

In  an  Art  Gallery     .         .         .         .  83 

Necessity       ........       88 

To  Dorothy 89 

To  My  Father 93 

Sonnets 97-101 

The  Idealist 102 

Sonnet 103-105 

The  Artist 106 

Sonnets 107-109 

Sonnet  .         -         .no 


Poems 


THE  MASTER  TOUCH 

He  dreamed  and  sought  divinest  minstrelsy, 
Would  praise  the  gods  in  some  immortal  song, 
Bequeath  to  ages  dim  a  harmony 
Wrung  from  his  soul,  in  utterance  rich  and  strong. 

With  forceful  hand  he  struck  his  magic  lute — 
Harsh  dissonance  and  screeching  discord  woke — 
The  heavenly  tones  he  sought,  forever  mute; 
In  hopeless  rage  the  quivering  string  he  broke. 

Another  found  the  maimed  and  piteous  thing, 
Across  the  jangling  strings  his  fingers  drew, 
Some  tender,  simple  melody  to  sing — 
He  touched  a  note,  and,  lo,  the  chord  rang  true! 


[i] 


THE  CATARACT 

In  the  regions  cold  of  those  summits  old 

Whose  pines  pierce  the  azure  sky, 

In  the  crevice  deep  where  in  crystal  heap 

The  ice-bound  glaciers  lie, 

On  the  steep  heights  gray  where  in  golden  ray 

Glows  the  first  cold  gleam  of  morn, 

In  the  chilling  frost  of  the  still  white  North, 

In  a  snowbank  was  I  born. 

The  harsh  winds  roar  and  the  hailstones  pour, 

As  I  rush  with  exultant  whirl 

O'er  the  stone  cliffs  bare,  round  which  fiercely  fair 

The  cloudships  wildly  swirl; 

The  tall  pines  groan  as  with  strength  unknown 

I  dash  over  tree  and  snag; 

With  a  mighty  song,  out  of  bondage  long, 

Do  I  leap  from  crag  to  crag. 

Of  the  thunder's  crash,  of  the  lightning's  flash, 

Of  the  blast  of  the  Storm  King's  breath, 

Of  the  wild  beast's  cry  to  the  lowering  sky, 

Of  the  swift-winged  shaft  of  Death, 

Of  the  torrent  wide  that  with  surging  tide 

Rushes  onward  through  cleft  and  glen, 

From  my  Northland  white,  of  great  Freedom's  might 

Do  I  sing  to  the  hearts  of  men. 

[2] 


THE  POET'S  SOUL 

In  forest  glades  primeval 

When  gods  and  earth  were  young, 

Ere  clashing  din  of  evil 

Across  the  world  had  rung, 

A  bright-eyed  wood  sprite  slender 

Sought  vainly  one  soul  tender, 

Who  fittingly  might  render 

The  song  as  yet  unsung. 

He  stole  Aurora's  glory, 
That  crimsoned  all  the  earth; 
The  breezes'  whispered  story; 
The  robin's  note  of  mirth; 
Spring's  passionate  caresses; 
Apollo's  fiery  tresses; 
The  sigh  which  love  confesses  — 
All  April's  golden  worth; 

The  calm  of  twilight  even, 
With  purple  cloud  drifts  far, 
When  from  the  depths  of  heaven 
Shines  forth  Orion's  star; 
The  surging  wild  emotion 
With  which  the  restless  ocean 
Beats  in  undying  motion 
Upon  the  distant  bar; 

[3] 


The  tenderness  of  lovers 
Alone  in  moonlit  bowers, 
Where  subtle  fragrance  hovers 
Of  dew-distilled  flowers; 
Sweetness  of  feigned  embraces; 
Pathos  of  long  loved  faces 
Oblivion  soon  effaces 
With  Time's  relentless  hours; 

Suffering  and  sin  and  sorrow 
And  weary  weight  of  years; 
Dead  past  and  dread  tomorrow 
Filled  with  foreboding  fears; 
Worn  eyes  in  vigil  waking; 
Strong  hearts  with  sorrow  breaking; 
Weak  hearts  with  dullness  aching, 
And  helpless,  human  tears; 

Bright  childhood's  splendor  golden 
That  knows  no  hope  deferred; 
Faith  of  the  ages  olden, 
By  doubting  thought  ne'er  stirred; 
Desire  and  passion  burning; 
Heart  for  a  heaven  yearning; 
Power  of  at  last  discerning 
Life's  hidden  secret  word; 


[4] 


The  melody  immortal 
That  sings  through  all  the  world; 
The  light  through  heaven's  portal 
Of  angel  wings  unfurled; 
The  peace  of  woe's  cessation; 
The  joy  of  all  creation; 
The  wild  wind's  exultation; 
The  sheen  of  dewdrops  pearled — 

These  with  the  waste  of  waters 
That  spread  from  pole  to  pole- 
Earth's  fairest  sons  and  daughters, 
The  bright-eyed  spirit  stole; 
And  into  things  diurnal 
He  breathed  with  lips  supernal 
The  breath  of  life  eternal 
And  made  the  poet's  soul. 


[5] 


SUNSET  LAND 

There  lies  a  land  beyond  the  sunset's  gold, 
A  land  of  fancies  where  all  dreams  come  true, 
Where  that  is  found  for  which  the  soul  has  cried: 
The  hopes,  the  fond  desires  of  ages  old, 
The  longing  deep  for  all  man  never  knew, 
The  vague  unrest,  forever  satisfied. 

Yon  bright  star,  glittering  on  the  saffron  breast 

Of  evening,  brings  to  tortured  hearts  release: 

Here  lies  the  goal  toward  which  man  aye  has  striven; 

Here  is  his  heart's  desire;  his  endless  rest; 

His  twilight  home  blessed  with  eternal  peace; 

His  fair  ideal  realized;  his  heaven. 

Here  come  the  wounded  loves  with  bruised  wings; 
The  faded  flowers,  so  loved,  so  early  blown; 
The  radiant  fancies  of  a  youth  grown  gray; 
The  moaning  wave  that  of  its  sorrow  sings; 
The  sobbing  wind  that  sighs  in  caverns  lone; 
Red  rays  of  morn;  pearl  lights  of  dying  day. 

The  vales  are  verdant  with  the  balm  of  tears 

Shed  by  sad  mortals;  dewy  twilight's  breath 

Is  soft  with  sighs  —  yet  none  are  heard  to  weep. 

Hushed  is  the  clamor  of  Time's  rolling  years, 

Hushed  broken  hearts,  and  calmed  all  fears  of  Death, 

Cradled  alike  in  an  eternal  sleep. 

[6] 


SUNSET 

Calmness  of  light  in  the  west, 
Peace  o'er  the  sea. 
Fog  stealing  soft  o'er  the  breast 
Of  the  ocean;  for  weary  ones,  rest- 
Rest   e'en  for  me! 

Peace  after  weariness,  rest — 
Rest  long  to  be! 

Gold  o'er  the  mountain's  dark  crest, 
Calmness  of  night  in  the  west, 
Death  o'er  the  sea. 


LOVE 

There  is  a  river  born  on  some  far  height, 

Some  snow  peak  nearest  heaven,  roused  by  the  breath 

Of  Spring's  awakening  from  its  sleep  of  night; 

Out  of  the  void  of  ice  and  snow  and  death 

It  leaps,  engulfing  boulder,  snag  and  rock, 

Strewing  wild  wrecks  along  its  frenzied  path; 

But  soon  the  surging  waters  cease  to  mock, 

Through  some  dark  glen  it  flows,  now  stilled  its  wrath; 

Silent  it  winds  through  fairy  lands  of  dream, 

Refreshing  weary  flowers  with  dewy  sleep; 

Now  a  gay  brooklet,  bright  with  crystal  sheen; 

Now  a  wide  river,  peaceful,  calm  and  deep, 

It  rolls  its  waves  toward  dim  Eternity 

To  sweeten  with  its  flood  life's  bitter  sea. 


[8] 


ON  READING  ROSEGGER'S  "WALDSCHUL- 
MEISTER" 

A  giant  mount  dark  hued  against  the  sky, 

Rock  ribbed  and  pine  clad;  rough  with  brier  and  cliff; 

Silvered  with  crystal  streams  of  torrent  foam; 

Surging  with  winds  that  sigh  through  forest  boughs, 

Waking  a  thousand  mystic  harmonies; 

Purpled  by  twilight  shades  of  dusky  eve; 

Soaring  aloft  to  meet  night's  patient  stars; 

Girt  with  embattled  cloudships  of  the  air; 

Brow  beaten  by  the  tempest's  mighty  rage — 

To  such  far  heights  as  these  men  may  aspire. 

Some,  wearied  by  the  steepness  of  the  road, 

Turn  them  aside  into  a  verdant  glen; 

Some  strive,  and  fall  upon  the  stony  way; 

Some  may  attain,  but  stricken  by  the  cold 

Bleak  desolateness  of  this  lonely  land, 

Fail  in  achievement.     To  a  few  great  souls 

'Tis  given  to  rise  above  the  solitude, 

The  tempest's  wrath,  the  bitter  loneliness, 

And  clear  eyed,  gaze  across  the  wastes  of  Time 

To  the  vast  ocean  of  Eternity. 


[9] 


TO    EILEEN 

Thy  brow  is  fairer  than  the  purest  snow; 
Thy  cheek  is  rosier  than  the  blush  of  morn; 
Thy  hair  is  golden  as  the  sunlight  glow 
O'er  glistening  corn. 

Thy  slender  hands  and  feet  are  lily  white; 
Violet  and  daisy  in  the  verdant  grass 
Wake  at  the  fairy  touch  of  footprint  light 
To  see  thee  pass. 

Thy  breath  is  sweeter  than  the  rippling  sigh 
Of  fragrant  wind;  like  music  from  afar 
Steals  thy  soft  voice;  the  radiance  of  thine  eye 
Dims  yon  bright  star. 


[10] 


TWILIGHT 

We  spoke  no  word,  nor  did  we  look  again 

At  one  another.     Down  yon  purple  steeps 

The  glow  of  evening  faded;  from  the  deeps 

Uprose  the  sullen  roaring  of  the  main. 

A  sudden  wind  swept  o'er  the  misty  plain, 

Then — silence  and  the  stars;  and  lo,  a  cry, 

Voiceless,  as  of  a  soul  in  agony, 

Rang  through  the  stillness,  while  our  hearts  with 

pain 

Throbbed  wildly  through  the  darkness,  as  a  clod 
Roused  by  Spring's  life;  then — nothing.     Though  no 

word 

We  spoke,  nor  looked  again,  we  silent  heard 
Through  all  our  being  ring  the  voice  of  God. 


"Beareth  all  things,  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all  things, 
endureth  all  things." 

Who  knows  not  suffering  has  not  learned  to  love. 

Nay,  I  mean  not  the  common  byword  love, 

The  jest  of  idle  youth,  the  scorn  of  age; 

Not  even  the  fiery  passion  of  two  souls 

Pledged  each  to  each  by  oath  for  life  or  death; 

Not  that  unfathomable  tenderness 

Of  mother  love  that  worships  but  its  own; 

Not  that  clear  eyed  enduring  faithfulness 

Of  two  strong  hearts  bound  close  by  friendship's  tie 

The  truest,  purest  bond  of  human  love — 

Not  these  I  mean.     But  something  deeper  far — 

A  love  all  comprehending,  limitless, 

Checked  by  no  barriers  of  time  and  space, 

Prompted  by  no  self-interest,  seeking  naught 

Of  recompense,  but  loving  for  love's  sake 

Humanity  for  man's  own  sake  alone; 

Filled  with  a  wide  o'erflowing  sympathy 

Which  ever  understands  and  thus  forgives; 

Not  human,  but  a  thing  of  source  divine. 


[12] 


As  we  partake  of  it,  so  do  we  share 
That  divine  nature,  shown  but  once  to  man 
In  all  its  fulness;  He  whose  love  alone 
Raised  Him  above  the  level  of  the  world, 
Exalted  to  the  Godhead,  yet  whose  name 
Remains  the  "Man  of  Sorrows";   by  His  death 
Saviour  of  men — but  not  by  death  alone. 
Not  in  the  torturing  hours  of  Calvary 
But  in  the  quiet  streets  of  Nazareth 
Did  He  redeem  man's  sins  with  His  life-blood, 
There,  by  His  wide  and  all-embracing  love, 
Bear  in  His  soul  the  burden  of  the  world. 


[13] 


BEETHOVEN 

(SUGGESTED  BY  LANG'S  "ODYSSEY") 

As  one  that  for  an  anguished  spell  hath  made 
His  home  among  the  prison  cells  of  men, 
Hath  breathed  the  poisoned  air  of  stagnant  fen 
Where  human  souls  in  darkness  long  have  stayed, 
Fearing  to  face  the  light  toward  which  they  strayed 
In  agony  of  blindness,  while  the  real, 
Base  sordidness  of  life  dimmed  love's  ideal, 
Which  lame  hands  groping  sought  and  dumb  lips 

prayed — 

As  such  an  one  were  glad  at  twilight  late 
To  stand  alone  'neath  heaven's  sublimity, 
So,  from  the  modern  masters'  note  of  strife, 
Discord,  and  anguish,  to  a  nobler  life 
Men  turn  where  thy  deep  tones  reverberate 
Unto  a  chant  of  solemn  majesty. 


[14] 


EPITAPH  OF  A  NAMELESS  HERO 

He  wrought  no  art  of  sword  or  pen, 
Achieved  no  laurel,  needs  no  stone 
To  sing  his  praise;  his  work  alone 
Lies  writ  in  hearts  of  fellowmen. 


ON  READING  PATER'S  "CHILD  IN  THE  HOUSE' 

A  fragrance  sweet  in  the  summer  air 
Of  a  day  remembered  and  half  forgot, 
A  cloud  drift  white  in  the  dreamy  blue 
And  the  breath  of  a  June  breeze  mild — 
A  memory  old  in  the  scene  so  new, 
A  homesick  yearning  for  what  is  not, 
A  desire  regretful  and  half  despair 
To  be  as  a  little  child. 


[15] 


AT  A  CONCERT 

You  could  not  reach  across  the  trifling  space 

That  parted  me  from  you,  to  touch  my  hand; 

Our  hearts  were  strangers;  you  may  never  know 

How  when  your  cry  rang  out  across  the  gulf 

Of  silences  that  lay  between,  my  soul 

Thrilled  out  to  yours  in  ecstasy  of  joy. 

Yet,  though  no  word  nor  look  between  us  passed. 

For  one  brief  beat  of  time,  our  inward  minds, 

Free  as  the  very  wind  on  mountain  height, 

Not  bound  by  iron  fetters  forged  by  men, 

Responded  to  the  same  eternal  voice, 

Stirred  with  the  selfsame  passion,  from  this  world, 

Exultant  challenging  the  bonds  of  Self, 

Soared  on  light  pinions  upward  to  the  blue, 

And  were  at  one,  resolving  back  again 

To  that  primeval  Force,  the  Consciousness 

That  animates  all  life,  the  very  Source 

Of  mind  and  matter — that  which  lives  and  moves 

And  breathes  through  all  things. 


[16] 


"THE  REST  IS  SILENCE" 

A  tiny  insect,  blinded  by  the  glare 
Of  dazzling  light  that  threw  its  circles  wide 
O'er  wall  and  ceiling,  fluttering  on  frail  wing, 
Uncertain,  yet  drawn  on  by  some  strange  power 
Of  fascination  toward  the  burning  globe, 
Whirred,  swerved  and  whirred  again, — and  then  a 

sound 
Of  something  feathery  fallen — then  a  hush. 

So  do  we  all,  drawn  by  the  larger  hope 

Of  greater  brightness,  beat  our  fragile  wings 

Upon  the  iron  prison  walls  of  Space, 

So  dimly  lighted,  holding  still  for  true 

The  faith  that  we  shall  one  day  reach  the  end 

Of  our  endeavor,  in  our  frenzied  whirl 

Of  blindness,  snatching  at  each  feeble  ray 

To  find  it  but  reflection,  till  at  last, 

Weary,  yet  strong  in  desperation's  might, 

We  hurl  ourselves  into  the  blazing  flame 

And  fall — in  light  or  darkness,  who  can  tell? 


"Ah  Love!  could  you  and  I  with  Him  conspire 
To  grasp  this  sorry  Scheme  of  Things  entire, 
Would  not  we  shatter  it  to  bits — and  then 
Re-mould  it  nearer  to  the  Heart's  Desire!" 

Intelligence  supreme,  a  moral  law 

Through  all  the  workings  of  the  universe, 

A  love  divine,  a  pity  infinite, 

A  fatherly  compassion  and  tenderness, 

The  God-mind  infinite  in  finite  man, 

So  saith  the  Preacher — so  would  we  believe; 

Believe  that,  through  the  chaos  and  the  strife, 

The  bloody  rapine  of  harsh  Nature's  laws, 

Who  sows  a  thousand  seeds  that  one  may  grow 

Unto  perfection,  maiming  all  the  rest, 

One  Will  still  works  and  watches  o'er  the  world, 

Leading  all  life  unto  a  noble  end. 

Such  is  our  faith.    And  yet,  when  one  we  love, 

One  whose  sweet  life  is  dearer  than  our  own, 

Is  given  the  lesser  part,  denied  the  power 

To  feel  and  love  and  know  the  soul's  great  truths, 

That  right  inalienable  owed  to  man 

By  his  Creator, — when  we  see  this  life 

Cast  up  a  wreck  upon  the  shoals  of  Time 

Before  its  trial,  having  never  known 

The  full  deep  seas  beyond  where  others  sail, 

Serving  no  nobler  purpose  than  to  rot 

Idly  upon  the  sun-blanched  waste  of  beach — 

[18] 


Then  we  cry  out  in  agony  of  soul 
Against  this  cruel  scheme  of  workmanship, 
Which  mars  a  thousand  forms  in  shaping  one, 
This  Maker  who,  in  moulding  one  fair  soul, 
Rejects  the  others  he  had  falsely  made 
And  casts  them  off  to  waste,  denying  e'en 
The  joy  which  sacrifice  and  suffering  bring. 

This  still  may  be  a  Power  unto  an  end, 
That  end  divine,  through  all  a  moral  law, 
A  high  Intelligence — but  answer  this, 
O  thou  eternal  Justice,  is  this  just? 
Father  of  men,  is  this  the  love  of  God? 
Is  this  His  pity?    Then,  'twas  truly  said 
It  passeth  knowledge! 

Oh,  reveal  Thyself! 

We  would  believe  Thee,  we  must  still  believe 
That  love  is  true  and  pity  infinite, 
That  these  faint  rays  that  flicker  through  the  dark 
Are  not  delusion, — lead  us  to  that  Light 
Which  is  the  source  of  truth;  do  Thou  forgive 
The  blinded  soul  that  cannot  wait  the  dawn, 
And,  since  Thou'st  fashioned  doubt,  forgive  the  heart 
That  doubts  Thy  mercy  when  it  needs  Thee  most! 


[19] 


TO  THE  WIND 

Free  spirit  of  the  sea  and  sky, 

Thou  wanderer  from  the  heaven's  blue, 

Thou  whose  sweet  breath  doth  life  renew, 

At  dawn  of  Spring — hear  thou  my  cry! 

I  weary  of  the  anguish  rife, 

I  faint  amidst  the  vast  world's  strife, 

Free  spirit  of  the  sea  and  sky, 

Breathe  through  my  soul  the  joy  of  life! 

Free  spirit  of  the  sky  and  sea, 

Thou  wanderer  from  the  ocean's  brine, 

Thou  sprite  sea  born  beyond  all  Time, 

Thy  boundless  home,  Infinity, 

My  blind  heart  vainly  craves  the  light, 

My  captive  soul  strains  toward  yon  height, 

Free  spirit  of  the  sky  and  sea 

Breathe  through  my  soul  vast  Freedom's  might! 


[20] 


SONG 

Were  I  a  bird  I  would  wing  to  thee, 
Were  I  the  lark  I  would  sing  to  thee, 
Were  I  a  star  I  would  shine  for  thee, 
Were  I  a  lover  I'd  pine  for  thee. 

Were  I  the  breeze  I  would  blow  for  thee, 
Were  I  the  rose  I  would  grow  for  thee, 
Were  I  a  wave  I  would  break  for  thee, 
Were  I  a  heart  I  would  ache  for  thee. 

Were  I  the  wind  I  would  sigh  for  thee, 
Were  I  a  hero  I'd  die  for  thee — 
None  of  these  gifts  can  I  give  to  thee, 
Bid  me,  dear,  only  to  live  for  thee! 


[21] 


DAWN 

I  strayed  alone  through  realms  of  night, 
And  waiting  hopeless  for  the  dawn, 
I  thought  before  the  break  of  morn 
To  see  afar  a  beam  of  light — 

And  lo,  the  star  I  thought  to  rise, 

I  found  your  eyes. 

I  wandered  through  a  sunless  land 
Along  the  copper  streaked  sea 
That  hurled  itself  in  mastery 
Across  life's  barren  waste  of  sand, 

And  as  I  longed  for  Spring  the  while, 

I  found  your'  smile. 

I  gazed  into  the  jaws  of  Hell 
And  there  I  read  that  sin  and  shame 
Are  life's  true  masters,  and  the  name 
Of  friendship  false — my  idols  fell, 

But  when  I  fain  would  curse  life's  whole, 

I  found  your  soul. 


[22] 


SUCH  IS  MY  LOVE 

Unto  what  shall  I  liken  my  love? 

As  the  fragrant  breath  of  the  summer  wind 

Bearing  sweet  from  afar 

Scents  of  the  pine  and  the  infinite  sea, 

Losing  itself  in  a  void  more  infinite  still — 

Such  is  my  love. 

Unto  what  shall  I  liken  my  love? 

As  the  exquisite  chord  of  a  harmony  rare 

Bringing  home  to  the  heart 

Memories  and  dreams  of  the  great  unfulfilled, 

Dying  away  in  the  mystic  shadows  of  night — 

Such  is  my  love. 

Unto  what  shall  I  liken  my  love? 

As  the  golden  beam  of  yon  glimmering  star, 

Constant  and  true, 

Lighting  a  way  through  the  dark  and  the  gloom, 

Piercing  the  cloud  and  defying  the  might  of  the  storm  — 

Such  is  my  love. 

Unto  what  shall  I  liken  my  love? 

As  the  roaring  surge  of  the  restless  sea 

Beating  wild  on  the  shore, 

Yet  concealing  beneath  its  turbulent  force 

Fathomless  depths  unknown,  lying  voiceless  and  still — 

Such  is  my  love. 

[23] 


ARIDNESS 

A  rose  she  plucked  of  crimson  hue 
And  twined  it  in  her  golden  hair. 
"A  pretty  flower" — if  she  but  knew 
The  secret  beauty  lurking  there! 

We  gazed  into  the  sunset's  glow, 
My  heart  with  untold  yearning  stirred; 
She  gaily  sang — how  should  she  know 
That  silence  deep  that  asks  no  word? 

Her  girlish  heart  one  day  she  brought 
In  selfish  confidence  to  mine 
And  sought  my  aid — nor  ever  thought 
Love  might  have  made  that  heart  divine! 


LIBERTY 

Ye  Clouds  that  drift  across  the  heavens'  blue, 

Then  hovering,  fade  into  the  infinite; 

Ye  Streams  that  wind  through  canon,  vale  and  glen, 

In  ceaseless  search  of  your  eternal  home, 

The  throbbing  heart  of  the  engulfing  Sea; 

Ye  Mountains  towering  dark  into  the  sky, 

Pointing  the  way  toward  which  man's  deepest 

thoughts 

And  highest  inspirations  must  aspire; 
Ye  Stars  that  constant  shine  through  gloom  and  cloud, 
Defying  e'en  the  Storm  King's  mighty  rage; 
Ye  Winds,  free  spirits  of  the  boundless  heaven, 
Life  breathing  wanderers  from  a  vaster  world; 
Thou  mighty  Ocean,  uncontrollable, 
Inexorable  as  adamantine  Fate, 
Surging  in  passion  o'er  the  puny  wrecks 
Of  man's  endeavor  strown  along  thy  shores; 
Ye  elements  of  earth  and  wind  and  wave 
That  breathe  of  Freedom,  hearken  to  my  cry! 
Uplift  this  struggling  soul  that  fain  would  soar 
On  outstretched  pinions  to  the  infinite 
And  trumpet  forth  to  all  the  captive  world 
Life's  holiest  cause — divinest  Liberty! 


[25] 


BEYOND 

Over  the  hill  lies  a  vale  of  rest — 
The  dim  blue  hill  with  the  piny  crest, 
Towering  dark  in  the  crimson  west. 
The  breezes  fill 

With  a  fragrance  soft  this  valley  fair, 
Bright  flowers  bloom  sweet  in  the  balmy  air, 
And  all  that  I  love  in  the  world  lies  there 
Over  the  hill. 

Over  the  hill  is  the  joy  of  Spring, 

When  the  day  is  young  and  the  robins  sing, 

The  peace  that  the  hazy  Summers  bring, 

The  Autumn  still; 

But  the  hillside's  stony  and  steep  and  bare, 

And  the  wintry  blast  I  fear  to  dare — 

Though  all  that  I  love  in  the  world  lie  there 

Over  the  hill. 

Over  the  hill  drifts  an  angel  song 

I  shall  one  day  sing,  though  the  way  be  long, 

Though  my  heart  be  weary  that  once  beat  strong, 

And  as  weak  my  will; 

Though  my  soul  be  burdened  with  weight  of  care, 

It  glows  with  a  hope  that  shall  darken  ne'er — 

For  all  that  I  love  in  the  world  lies  there 

Over  the  hill. 

[26] 


CECILY 

Her  hair  is  dark,  yet  furtive  rays  of  gold 
Play  through  her  tresses,  as  the  twilight  gleam 
Steals  through  the  slumbering  branches  dark  and  old 
Gilding  the  forest's  dream. 

Her  laughing  voice  is  clear  as  song  of  Spring, 
Thrilling  with  all  the  joy  of  budding  May, 
Yet  sweet  with  all  the  sadness  that  doth  sing 
In  winds  at  close  of  day. 

Her  starry  eyes  are  bright  as  violets'  hue, 
Yet  in  them  shadows  lurk,  as  when  at  even 
A  sun-kissed  cloud,  in  drifting  o'er  the  blue, 
Darkens  the  peace  of  heaven. 

Her  heart  is  whiter  than  the  purest  snow, 
Her  soul  all  angel — save  that  even  here 
Her  love  shines  human,  as  all  flowers  must  blow 
Fairer  for  dewdrop's  tear. 


[27] 


MEMORIES 

I  cannot  now  recall 

The  magic  coloring  of  the  dawn  of  day, 

Nor  all  the  splendors  that  my  childhood  dreamed — 

A  dream  now  far  away! 

But  I  can  ne'er  forget 

How,  as  I  walked  one  day  through  forest  glooms, 

Across  my  path  a  ray  of  sunlight  streamed. 

Long  since  have  I  forgot 

The  melody  of  an  immortal  song 

That  thrilled  my  heart  a  moment  and  then  died 

In  silence  deep  and  long. 

But  I  can  still  recall 

How  all  one  autumn  night  there  ceaseless  rose 

The  restless  moaning  of  the  ebbing  tide. 

And  I  have  soon  forgot 

Rare  works  of  beauty,  genius,  and  of  art, 

In  which  the  artist,  measuring  life's  great  whole, 

Revealed  the  human  heart 


[28] 


But  I  can  still  recall 

How,  as  I  paused  for  lack  of  words,  a  friend 

Turned,  looked,  and  in  his  eyes  laid  bare  his  soul. 

I  cannot  now  recall 

Strong  words  of  comfort  or  of  counsel  sage 

With  which  philosophers  of  every  land 

Enrich  life's  every  age. 

But  I  can  ne'er  forget 

How  one  day,  as  I  dumbly  hid  my  grief, 

You  smiled  through  tears  and  gently  pressed  my  hand. 


[29] 


SEA  LONGING 

River  that  rollest  so  still  past  the  towering  walls  of 

the  city, 
Wild  are  the  throngs  on  thy  shores,  thy  banks  ring 

loud  with  their  laughter, 
Loud  ring  their  strife  and  their  cries,  but  under  the 

deafening  clamor 
Still  can  I  hear  thy  voice  with  its  message  that 

men  understand  not, 
Their  hearts  being  dulled  by  the  din,  not  hearing 

thy  moaning  so  restless, 
But  tonight  as  I  draw  apart  from  the  feverish 

unrest  of  the  toilers, 
In  thee  have  I  found  the  expression  of  all  that  my 

heart  fain  would  utter. 

Thou,  e'en  as  I,  art  a  pilgrim  on  earth,  eternally 

seeking, 
Not  knowing  the  purpose,  direction,  or  goal  of  thy 

wanderings  endless, 
Often  with  hope  deferred  and  a  heart  that  is  weary 

of  roaming, 
Still  with  unfaltering  trust  to  reach  the  end  of  thy 

journey — 
The  sea! 

The  sea  with  its  gleaming  flames  of  emerald 
and  silver, 

[30] 


Blended  with  gold  of  the  sun  and  sapphire  sheen  of 

the  heavens — 
The  sea,  with  its  wind  tossed  crests,  and  its 

glittering  sparkle  of  diamonds 
Scattered  afar  o'er  the  ridges  of  waves  with  the 

shimmer  of  rainbow — 
The  sea,  with  its  wild  unrest,  and  its  mad  moods  of 

fury  and  vengeance, 
Storming,  and  shifting,  and  sinking,  the  mirror  of 

life's  human  passions — 
The  sea,  with  its  weird  lament,  its  voice  eternally 

calling, 
Its  harsh  note  of  fate,  and  its  endless  song  of 

unutterable  music — 

The  sea,  with  its  vast,  calm  strength,  and  its  soul- 
engulfing  oblivion! 
River  that  rollest  so  still  past  the  towering  walls  of 

the  city, 
And  yet  in  thy  floods  concealest  the  longing  that  men 

understand  not, 
Bear  me  along  on  thy  waves  to  the  shore  where  we 

fathom  life's  meaning, 
Losing  our  hearts  in  the  heart  of  the  vaster,  the 

infinite  Ocean! 


ON  A  PORTRAIT  BY  VAN  DYCK 

A  row  of  paintings  from  the  artist's  hand, 

But  from  them  all  stood  out  one  single  face — 

There  spoke  the  Master!    All  intent  I  stood 

And  gazed  into  that  face  until  I  found 

Beneath  the  lifeless  lines  a  living  soul. 

Ethereal,  pale,  of  contour  delicate, 

Womanly  beauty  rather  than  man's  strength 

Distinguished  it;  yet  as  the  heavenly  host 

Of  angels,  standing  nearest  to  God's  throne, 

Must  in  their  smiles  reflect  the  infinite  love 

They  contemplate,  so  was  this  lofty  brow 

Illumined  with  a  tenderness  divine, 

As  of  a  soul  at  peace,  who  found  at  last 

The  mystic  presence  of  the  unseen  world 

Grow  to  reality.     Nor  had  he  lost 

The  human  in  attaining  the  divine, 

For  suffering  on  those  lips  was  eloquent, 

And  all  the  longing  of  the  unfulfilled 

Yearned  in  those  eyes  that  gazed  into  my  own 

With  such  a  luminous  pity  that  I  knew 

That  soul  had  fathomed  all,  and  understood 

The  throbbings  of  the  world's  great  human  heart. 


[3*1 


FRIENDS 

Like  a  mosaic,  rich  in  varied  hue 
And  form,  yet  with  a  unity  that  blends 
Into  one  perfect  whole  gems  old  and  new — 
Such  is  my  world  of  friends. 

Each  suited  to  his  own  peculiar  part, 
The  loss  of  one  would  make  life  incomplete; 
Each  blossoms  in  the  garden  of  my  heart 
With  differing  fragrance  sweet 

Each  one  a  single  need  can  satisfy, 
Through  eyes  of  each  a  separate  world  I  see, 
Yet  all  are  bounden  by  the  common  tie 
Of  human  sympathy. 


E'en  thus  I  mused  one  day  a  lonely  while, 
Until  your  voice  I  heard,  my  hand  you  pressed- 
Then,  worshipping  the  heaven  in  your  smile, 
Lo,  I  forgot  the  rest! 


[33] 


STORM 

Loud  shrieked  the  storm,  and  the  blast  of  the  wind 

in  my  face 
Smote  with  the  pelting  drops  it  had  wrung  from  the 

heart  of  the  cloud, 
Lowering  dark  o'er  the  brown  of  the  winter  swept 

plains. 
I  rejoiced  in  the  rush  of  the  rain  and  the  sting  of 

the  wind, 
Crackling,  and  whistling,  and  screeching  through 

boughs  of  the  stark,  dead  trees; 
And  my  heart  exultant  cried  out  to  the  strength  of 

the  storm, 

Defying  its  might  to  subdue  the  storm  in  my  breast. 
Free  is  the  blast  of  the  wind, 
Free  is  the  rush  of  the  rain, 
Freedom  in  wings  of  the  cloud, 
Freedom  in  strength  of  the  storm — 
Freedom  e'en  Fate  to  defy! 

Only  man,  with  his  lordlier  mind, 

Man,  with  his  brain  to  think,  his  will  to  command, 

Man,  with  his  conscience  to  guide,  his  great  human 

heart 
To  struggle,  and  suffer,  and  love — he  alone  is  unfree! 


[34l 


What  is  life  to  the  men  who  toil 
For  some  sordid,  paltry  end  in  their  petty  schemes, 
Who  labor  and  sweat  and  despairing  seek  the  relief 
Of  the  empty,  meaningless  pleasures  the  barren  days 

bring, 

Dulling  the  soul's  perception  of  holier  joys  — 
What  is  life  to  these  men 

But  a  vast  eternal  wheel,  a  remorseless  machine 
Grinding  to  dust  the  pitiful  wrecks  of  their  souls? 
But  they — they  know  not  the  cost! 
They  dream  not  the  price  they  have  paid, 
All  the  Heaven  and  the  Hell  they  forego 
For  the  moment's  oblivion. 
With  a  careless,  pitiful  grace 
They  have  flung  their  souls  away, 
Nor  ever  counted  the  loss. 

And  the  rest?    Ah,  those  are  the  hearts 

Whose  fate  craves  the  pitying  tear! 

They  have  seen  a  light  through  the  gloom, 

They  have  heard  a  song  through  the  din; 

Bound  in  prison  chains,  they  have  felt 

The  pulse  of  Liberty's  heart; 

They  have  dreamed  the  dreams  of  the  world; 

Cold  in  Death,  the  stirring  of  Life 

Has  coursed  through  their  veins,  and  their  eyes. 


[35] 


Still  blinded  have  sought  for  the  dawn, 
Their  dumb  lips  in  agony  prayed, 
And  their  hearts,  still  hungering  for  truth, 
Have  striven,  and  anguished,  and  died 
For  the  dream  they  might  never  fulfill, 
For  the  beauty  they  might  not  express. 

Have  the  gods  thus  allotted  man's  fate — 
Stagnation,  oblivion,  death, 
Or  the  mad,  unending  pursuit 
Of  an  ever  elusive  Ideal? 


To  the  topmost  crest  of  a  hill 

On  the  frenzied  wings  of  the  storm 

I  was  borne,  my  tempest-tossed  brain 

And  my  captive,  revolting  soul 

A  part  of  the  chaos  of  strife 

Of  the  raging  elements. 

At  the  topmost  crest  of  the  hill 

I  paused  with  a  lull  in  the  blast 

And  the  whirl  of  my  wind  driven  thoughts. 

O'er  the  ridge,  where  the  hills  meet  the  sky, 

The  threatening  martial  host 

Of  thundering  war  clouds  broke, 


[36] 


And  a  stream  of  luminous  white 

Shot  out  clear  through  the  night  blackened  West 

And  my  soul  that  had  struggled  in  vain 
With  the  baffling  wrath  of  the  storm, 
The  world  weight  crushing  it  down, 
In  an  agonized  ecstasy 
Felt  the  binding  shackles  burst — 
For  a  moment's  eternity 
Stood  fearless,  erect,  alone, 
Face  to  face  with  the  Infinite! 


Slowly  the  splendor  died, 
The  vision  faded  away, 
The  bars  of  the  prison  fell, 
And  indifferent  life  returned. 


[37] 


APART 

You  call  me  friend,  you  touch  my  hand, 
Your  eyes  a  thousand  words  would  say, 
And  yet — I  feel  you  far  away, 
And  know  you  will  not  understand. 

You  think  I  blame  you?    Dearest,  no! 
Should  man  regret  that  God  has  made 
The  rose  too  perfect,  or  the  shade 
Of  lily  purer  than  the  snow? 

I  struggled  boldly  for  the  truth, 
I  spared  no  throe  of  heart  or  brain  — 
My  quest  was  fruitless:  none  remain 
Of  all  the  fleeting  dreams  of  youth. 

You  came — a  while  I  found  release, 
A  respite  from  my  weariness 
In  your  sweet  spirit's  gentleness, 
Your  hallowed,  soul  refreshing  peace. 

But  was  this  love?    We  cannot  make 
Our  lives  what  we  would  have  them,  dear, 
Or  never  had  I  known  this  fear 
My  silence  and  your  heart  to  break. 


[38] 


Your  angel  soul  is  all  too  white — 
What  should  you  know  of  my  despair? 
Your  eyes  are  heaven,  your  lips  a  prayer — 
I  struggle  blindly  for  the  light. 

You  fain  your  sympathy  would  give; 
I  long  to  tell  you  all  my  heart. 
But  sin  and  tears  have  done  their  part — 
And  you  have  not  begun  to  live! 

My  agonies,  why  should  you  know, 
My  ecstasies,  my  thirst  for  truth? 
Between  us  lie  your  radiant  youth, 
Your  innocence — 'tis  better  so! 

Those  heights  and  depths  now  all  unknown 
I  would  not  to  your  eyes  reveal, 
Though  at  that  cost  I  might  unseal 
Your  heart,  and  make  your  soul  my  own! 

I  would  not  sacrifice  your  faith 

To  any  selfish  will  of  mine: 

A  man  must  worship  the  divine, 

E'en  though  that  reverence  mean  his  death. 

Of  friendship  have  I  given  you  much; 
Fain  would  I  more,  but  your  ideal 


[39] 


Is  cold— I  thirst  for  all  the  real, 
I  hunger  for  the  human  touch. 

I  crave  the  suffering,  the  strife, 
The  rapture  of  the  world's  great  whole; 
Some  day  one  great  enough  in  soul 
May  come  to  share  your  spirit  life. 

The  truth  is  out;  past  the  dull  ache 
Of  self-deceit;  in  your  dear  eyes 
A  wistful,  childlike  pathos  lies — 
At  sight  of  it  my  heart  could  break. 

'Tis  cruel  to  leave  you  all  alone? 
Ah,  dear,  there  is  no  other  way! 
You'll  understand  some  future  day 
The  misery  we  might  have  known. 

And  understanding  all  the  pain 

With  which  my  soul  is  scarred,  may  ask 

God's  pity  on  the  endless  task 

For  which  He  did  my  life  ordain. 


[40] 


SANDMAN'S  LAND 

The  sandman  is  both  old  and  wise, 
He  creeps  in  at  the  door 
And  shakes  his  sand  grains  in  my  eyes, 
While  playing  on  the  floor. 

Then  I  forget  my  boats  and  farms, 
My  ball  and  soldiers  red, 
And  Nursie  takes  me  in  her  arms 
And  carries  me  to  bed. 

I  know  that  he  must  be  alive, 
I  try  'most  every  night 
To  see  him  when  he  comes  at  five, 
But  yet  I  haven't — quite. 

He  brings  with  him  two  little  boys, 
Their  names  are  Sleep  and  Dream; 
I'd  love  to  show  them  all  my  toys — 
How  funny  it  would  seem! 

But  they  take  me  with  them  instead, 
When  Nurse  puts  out  the  light 
And  tucks  me  all  alone  in  bed, 
So  comfy,  warm  and  white. 

She  thinks  that  I  go  fast  asleep 
When  she  has  heard  my  prayers. 


How  scared  she'd  be  if  she  should  peep 
And  find  I'd  gone  downstairs 

With  those  two  boys  the  Sandman  brings, 
And  out  into  the  night, 
Where  near  the  moon  an  angel  sings 
All  dressed  in  silver  bright. 

The  angel  has  a  golden  key 
That  opens  Sandman's  Land 
Where  all  good  little  boys  like  me 
Build  castles  in  the  sand, 

And  bake  mud  pies,  and  have  their  fun 
With  no  one  there  to  say 
"Run  home  and  wash  your  hands,  my  son, 
You  must  be  tired  of  play." 

The  trees  are  made  of  pep'mint  stick, 
And  lemonade's  the  stream 
(The  kind  that  never  makes  one  sick), 
The  flowers  are  all  ice  cream. 

A  pretty  lady  there  we  meet 
With  hair  all  shiny  gold; 
Her  mouth  is  full  of  kisses  sweet, 
She  doesn't  ever  scold. 


[42] 


She  loves  to  play  with  us — her  dress 
Is  never  far  too  fine; 
She  never  says  we  make  a  mess, 
Or  that  we  pout  and  whine. 

She  lets  me  be  the  grizzly  bear 
And  never  minds  the  noise; 
She  tells  us  stories,  and  takes  care 
Of  all  our  broken  toys. 

And  here  in  Sandman's  Land  we  stay 
Until  for  Nursie's  sake 
I  have  to  run  back  home  and  play 
That  I'm  but  just  awake! 


TO  KATHERINE 

When  first  God  framed  the  garden  of  the  world, 
He  made  the  rose  and  lily  all  so  fair 
That  many  love  His  glowing  flowers  dew  pearled, 
Yet  few  may  find  His  spirit  hidden  there. 

When  first  God  framed  the  garden  of  your  soul, 
He  made  your  heart  so  fair,  so  free  from  sin, 
All  love  you,  dear  —  a  few  may  read  the  whole, 
The  depths  of  tenderness  that  lie  within. 

[43] 


WORDSWORTH 

(AFTER  READING  "TINTERN  ABBEY.") 

Thou  worshipper  of  Nature,  thou  the  chief 

Of  all  the  immortals  kneeling  at  her  shrine, 

Thou  who  didst  comprehend  her  mind  and  heart 

In  all  its  fullness,  thou  unto  the  end 

Her  lover  and  her  priest,  interpreter 

Of  mysteries  too  sacred  for  the  eyes 

Of  those  unseeing  throngs  outside  the  veil — 

Thy  work  long  since  is  ended,  thy  true  heart 

Absorbed  in  those  primeval  elements, 

The  vast,  unfathomable  Infinite 

Whence  it  emerged,  a  light  athwart  the  gloom 

Of  cold  indifference  and  unfeeling  doubt. 

Yet  though  thy  task  is  done,  and  thou  are  passed 

Into  that  greater  void  we  may  not  know, 

Still  Nature,  even  in  death,  hath  not  betrayed 

The  heart  that  loved  her — for  thy  very  soul 

Is  entered  in  a  sense  still  more  sublime 

Into  her  essence,  and  thy  spirit  breathes 

Through  all  her  fragrant  flowers,  and  through  the  hush 

Of  murmuring  streams,  and  through  the  song  of  birds, 

And  through  the  streaming  light  of  setting  suns, 

And  through  the  hallowed  calm  of  eventide 

Purpling  the  wooded  mountain  and  the  plain 

With  starry  silence  of  engulfing  peace. 


And  they  who  feel  the  beauty  that  doth  lurk 
Beneath  the  fairy  grace  of  trembling  flower, 
Who  hear  the  deeper  music  that  doth  lie 
Dumbly  eternal  in  the  joyous  song 
Of  birds,  or  in  the  wilder  sea's  lament — 
These  feel  thy  spirit  dwelling  with  them  still, 
And  know  the  beauties  thou  in  love  expressed 
Fairer  for  thy  love's  sake,  and  Nature's  joys 
Made  nobler  by  thine  own  nobility. 


PREMONITION 

Yes,  I  know  it  is  Winter  still — 

That  the  trees  are  brown  and  the  skies  are  gray, 

And  the  snow  lies  white  o'er  the  western  hill, 

That  the  stars  are  dim,  and  the  cold  night  long, 

That  the  brook  is  dumb,  and  the  sweet  bird  song 

Is  fled  to  the  Southland  far  away — 

And  yet  in  my  heart  the  sudden  thrill 

Of  music  that  over  the  years  doth  ring 

And  my  eyes  with  a  mist  of  yearning  fill — 

The  voice  of  the  coming  Spring! 


[45] 


SONG 

What  light  may  e'er  relieve  the  gloom 
Through  which  men  blindly  grope? 
I  looked  into  your  eyes,  my  sweet, 
And  found  that  light  was  Hope. 

What  power  of  men  or  e'en  of  gods 
May  rend  the  bonds  of  death? 
I  looked  into  your  heart,  my  sweet, 
And  felt  that  power  was  Faith. 

What  truth  may  lift  our  sordid  lives 
From  earth  to  heaven  above? 
I  looked  into  your  soul,  my  sweet, 
And  knew  that  truth  was  Love. 


[46] 


DEATH  IN  LIFE 

If,  while  your  love  were  still  my  very  own, 
Cold  Death  had  laid  his  hand  upon  your  heart, 
I  would  have  bowed  my  head  and  made  no  moan, 
Scorning  a  power  too  weak  our  souls  to  part. 

I  would  have  longed  for  voice  and  lips  and  hands, 
Yet  with  the  wandering  night  winds  from  the  sea, 
Our  souls  had  still  embraced  in  mystic  lands 
Known  only  to  Love's  holy  sympathy. 

Such  sacred  grief  were  blessedness.    .    .    .    Tonight 
Mine  is  the  anguish  of  a  different  lot: 
To  know  your  lips  as  sweet,  your  eyes  as  bright, 
And,  searching  for  your  soul — to  find  it  not! 


[47] 


LIFE'S  PURPOSE 

"Pis  not  with  tongues  of  angels  I  would  speak, 
Nor  knowledge  wide,  to  comprehend  life's  whole, 
I  crave,  nor  faith  inviolate  I  seek: 
Are  such  ends  worth  my  agony  of  soul? 

I  ask  not  even  the  relief  of  art 
To  voice  my  yearning  for  the  great  unknown; 
'Tis  not  for  me  to  claim  so  great  a  part — 
Glad  will  I  work  in  silence  and  alone. 

This  one  thing,  and  this  only  I  demand: 
That  all  my  suffering  be  not  spent  in  vain. 
Out  of  my  anguish  let  me  stretch  the  hand 
That  may  have  power  to  ease  another's  pain. 

Grant  me  the  strength  to  bear  another's  weight 
Of  grief;  the  faith  to  calm  another's  fears; 
The  sympathy  that  makes  man's  varied  fate 
Its  own,  and  shares  all  human  joys  and  tears. 


[48] 


ISOLATION 

When  I  was  but  a  child  and  knew  not  pain, 
One  day  you  clasped  me  closely  to  your  breast3 
And  on  my  cheek  your  lips  convulsive  pressed, 
While  o'er  my  face  the  hot  tears  fell  like  rain. 

That  hour  was  long  ago.    Then  why  today 
When  years  have  given  me  my  rightful  part 
In  the  soul's  sorrow,  do  you  close  your  heart 
To  love,  and  smiling,  turn  your  face  away? 


[49] 


THE  NATURE   LOVER 

Say  not  that  you  know  the  hills, 
You  who  have  seen  from  afar 
The  wavering  purple  line 
With  the  blue  horizon  blend — 
Your  thoughts  ever  earthward  bend; 
A  loftier  joy  is  mine: 
I  have  lain  'neath  the  giant  pine, 
I  have  watched  the  evening  star 
Sink  low  o'er  the  mountain  height, 
While  the  soft  mists  wrap  from  sight 
The  plain  in  their  snowy  fleece, 
Till  the  ache  of  daylight  cease 
In  Night's  all-enfolding  peace. 
You  who  love  the  calm  that  stills, 
The  joy  that  with  rapture  thrills — 
You  alone  have  known  the  hills! 

Say  not  that  you  know  the  wood, 

You  who  have  walked  through  its  shade 

With  your  hearts  in  the  world  away, 

And  no  thought  for  the  flower  at  your  feet- 

I,  out  of  the  blazing  heat 

Of  the  scorching  noontide's  ray, 

Worn  with  the  toil  of  day, 

Into  forest  glooms  have  strayed; 


[50] 


The  earth  has  drawn  me  to  rest 

Like  a  tired  child  on  her  breast, 

Till  the  birds  and  the  whispering  stream 

And  the  singing  silence  seem 

A  part  of  my  slumbering  dream. 

You  who  love  the  calmer  good, 

Who  have  felt  that  deep  heart  brood — 

You  alone  have  known  the  wood! 

Say  not  that  you  know  the  sea, 
You  who  have  strolled  on  the  shore 
And  have  watched  the  green  waves  creep 
Up  the  golden  line  of  sand — 
Your  love  is  born  of  the  land, 
But  mine  is  the  soul  of  the  deep 
Where  the  white-maned  billows  leap 
And  the  swirling  whirlpools  roar; 
Where  the  arched  waves  kiss  the  sky, 
And  the  spray-winged  seagull's  cry 
Rises  shrill  o'er  the  deeper  tone 
Of  the  ceaseless,  sobbing  moan 
Of  a  breaking  heart — you  alone 
Who  have  felt  its  ecstasy, 
Who  have  shared  its  agony — 
You  alone  have  known  the  sea! 


ABSENCE 

Tonight  I  cannot  see  your  eyes 

Smile  sweet  into  my  own; 

The  last  faint  ray  of  daylight  dies, 

I  sit  in  dark  alone. 

Yet  through  yon  stars  that  brightly  shine 

I  know  your  heart  is  seeking  mine. 

Tonight  I  cannot  hear  your  call 
Across  the  deadening  years 
That  rise  between — a  giant  wall 
That  yields  not  to  my  tears. 
Yet  in  the  sobbing  of  the  sea 
I  know  your  spirit  speaks  to  me. 

Tonight  I  may  not  feel  the  touch 

Of  clinging  finger  tips; 

Tonight  my  heart  yearns  overmuch 

With  hungering  for  your  lips; 

Yet  love  may  bid  time  backward  roll — 

This  hour  I  clasp  you  soul  to  soul. 


[52] 


TO    DICKY 

One  day  when  I  had  all  my  dreams  forgot, 

And  thought  to  fail  from  very  weariness 

Of  cold,  blank  disillusion,  in  your  eyes 

I  read  the  answer  to  my  questioning  thought, 

And  knew  that  purity  is  holiness 

Which  in  the  face  of  dreaming  children  lies. 

And  so  for  one  brief  hour  your  trusting  hand 
You  laid  in  mine,  and  led  me  far  away 
From  earth's  dull  cares  into  the  freedom  clear 
Of  your  boy's  world  where  life  is  fairyland, 
And  poetry  truth,  and  every  child  heart  gay, 
And  white-winged  angels  hovering  ever  near. 

Only  a  single  hour — so  long  ago, 

You  have  forgot.     I,  who  remember  still, 

Pray  unto  Him  who  bade  the  children  come, 

That  many  years  may  pass  ere  you  shall  know 

How  dreary  are  the  barren  truths  that  fill 

The  wastes  that  lie  beyond  your  dreamland  home. 

And  when  at  last  the  rosy  gates  must  close, 
And  you  pass  out  with  bravely  eager  feet 
To  play  in  the  vast  world  your  own  great  part 
In  dreams'  fulfillment — in  the  bitter  throes 
Of  disappointment,  may  God's  message  sweet 
Lie  writ  for  you  in  some  child's  trusting  heart. 
[53]      • 


EXILE 

I  think  perchance  if  I  might  hear  once  more 

The  sobbing  surge  upon  a  distant  bar, 

The  thundering  surf  upon  a  well-loved  shore, 

That  I  might  then  perceive 

The  music  hidden  'neath  the  deafening  jar 

Of  jangling  din  for  him  that  will  believe. 

I  think  perchance  if  I  might  once  more  gaze 

On  steel-gray  blue  of  twilight  o'er  the  sea, 

Or  purple  mountains'  mellow  evening  haze, 

That  once  again  would  shine 

'Neath  life's  dull  tints  a  richer  harmony, 

And  through  the  blinding  glare  a  gleam  divine. 

I  think  perchance  if  I  might  look  again 

Into  those  eyes  I  loved  long  years  ago, 

I  might  not  dream  the  quest  of  beauty  vain, 

But  I  at  last  would  feel 

That  through  earth's  common  forms  must  ever  flow 

Some  glory  from  the  heart  of  the  Ideal. 


[54] 


AT   DUSK 

Through  the  warm  light  of  hazy  summer  eves, 
How  long  have  we  sat  dreaming,  you  and  I, 
The  splendor  streaming  from  the  western  sky, 
The  sea  wind  sighing  through  the  slumbering  leaves. 

Bright  in  our  eyes  the  fading  glory  burned, 
Chill  in  our  hearts  unfathomed  sorrow  stirred 
As  twilight  slowly  died — we  spoke  no  word, 
But  in  the  silent  dusk  our  whole  heart  yearned. 

Dusk  deepened  into  night — then  in  your  eyes 
There  dawned  the  great  calm  of  a  soul  at  rest 
In  worlds  beyond  all  thought,  as  o'er  the  crest 
Of  yonder  hill  we  watched  the  bright  stars  rise. 

E'en  so,  beloved,  we  see  the  fading  light 
Of  golden  dreams  our  child  heart  found  so  fair 
Vanish,  despite  regret  and  wild  despair 
And  futile  hope,  into  the  darkening  night. 

Yet,  could  we  gaze  into  the  heavens  above, 
The  dark,  vast  stretches  of  the  Infinite, 
Would  we  not  find  that  void  of  blackness  lit 
With  stars  of  calmer  thought  and  deeper  love? 


[55] 


SPRING   SONG 

Spring  is  here! 

The  sky  lark  trills  his  message  clear — 

Let  earth  rejoice! 

While  brooks  and  birds  and  fresh  winds  gay 

Sing  out  the  gladness  of  the  May — 

***** 

Beloved,  what  is  Spring  without  thy  voice? 

Spring  is  here! 

The  May  flowers  smile  through  April's  tear 

Where  bright  dew  lies 

On  spangled  pansy,  mignonette, 

White  lily,  glowing  violet — 

***** 

Beloved,  what  is  Spring  without  thine  eyes? 

Spring  is  here! 

The  buzzing  bee  on  gauze  wing  sheer 

Sweet  honey  sips. 

Winds  fragrant  breathe  of  flowering  lands, 

Blue  sea  waves  kiss  the  gleaming  sands — 
***** 

Beloved,  what  is  Spring  without  thy  lips? 


[56] 


TO  THE  SKEPTIC 

No  fairies,  you  say? 

Who  wake  the  flowers  at  the  break  of  day? 
Whose  voices  sing  in  the  passing  breeze? 
What  spirits  sigh  in  the  whispering  trees? 
Who  strew  the  sea  with  its  rainbow  foam? 
Who  talk  with  the  birds  in  their  forest  home? 
Who  light  the  stars  in  the  heavens  at  night, 
And  the  tiny  lamps  for  the  fireflies  bright? 
Who  ride  on  the  white  moon's  glistening  beams 
Bringing  the  little  children  dreams? 

No  angels,  you  say? 

Whose  song  do  we  hear  at  the  close  of  day 
When  the  earth  is  hushed  in  the  twilight  still 
And  the  sky  bends  low  o'er  the  western  hill? 
Who  veil  the  blue  with  their  cloud  wings  light 
And  wrap  the  earth  in  its  snow  shroud  white? 
Who  draw  the  souls  of  the  flowers  to  rest 
In  the  twilight  land  of  the  gleaming  west? 
Who  rise  to  the  heights  by  men  untrod 
Bearing  the  children's  prayers  to  God? 


[57] 


BUTTERFLIES 

Scarlet,  and  purple  winged,  and  gold, 

Light,  rainbow  tinted  sprites  of  poesy, 

Flitting  from  flower  to  flower, 

Gladdening  the  eye  with  glow  of  radiant  Spring, 

Delighting  every  heart 

That  love  of  color  and  of  song  doth  hold, 

With  rhythmic  whir  of  fairy  feathered  wing — 

Ephemeral  nothings  of  an  hour 

Have  you  no  sacred  part 

In  Nature's  universal  harmony? 

Light,  laughing  souls  of  fairy  birth, 

Glowing  with  love  of  life  and  joy  of  youth, 

Gliding  from  day  to  day 

Unconscious  of  the  burden  others  bear, 

Knowing  no  nobler  art 

Than  that  of  smiling  on  the  tear-stained  earth 

With  radiant  eyes  undimmed  by  darkening  care, 

Exquisite  flower  souls  of  May, 

Have  you  no  sacred  part 

In  Life's  vast  realm  of  beauty  and  of  truth?  . 


[58] 


ASHTORETH 

Night  only,  Night  fevered  with  dim  unrest 

Of  the  dull  Earth,  worn  with  the  toil  of  day; 

Silence  profound  and  fearful,  as  the  lull 

Of  threatening  calm  ere  the  onrushing  storm, 

Silence  of  thousand  inarticulate  sounds, 

Voiceless,  yet  making  silence  audible; 

Darkness  intense,  save  where  one  pale  spot  glows 

On  yon  black  hilltop  where  the  waning  moon 

Leans  weary  on  her  couch  of  saffron  cloud. 

Rich  perfumed  flowers  embalm  the  midnight  air 

With  subtle  scent  of  hyacinth  and  rose 

Exhaling  souls  of  fragrance  to  the  stars, 

And  soft  winged  winds  caressing  brush  my  cheek. 

Blank,  soulless  solitude,  save  where  two  forms 
Stand  close  in  the  shadow,  save  where  two  hearts 

'throb 
Wild  in  the  stifling  gloom — God! — I  and  thou! 

No  other  sound  save  of  thy  fluttering  breath 
Fanning  my  face  in  gasps;  no  other  light 
Save  the  divine  gleam  thrilling  in  thine  eyes; 
No  other  touch  save  of  thy  flower  hand 
That  trembles  lily-like  against  my  own — 
No  hour  save  this  of  all  eternity 
For  thee  and  me — one  hour,  our  hour  alone! 

[59] 


Ah,  God!  Can  this  be  sin,  this  maddening  joy 
Of  thy  wild  heart-beats  close  against  my  breast, 
This  rending  tumult  of  fierce  ecstasy 
With  which  I  drink  oblivion  in  thine  eyes 
While  time,  space,  Hell  and  Heaven  drop  away 
As  our  two  souls,  indissolubly  one, 
Soar  starward  at  the  meeting  of  our  lips? 
***** 

Hark!     Like  the  tortured  moan  of  some  damned  soul 

The  hollow  wail  of  the  reechoing  tide 

Sobs  through  the  silence,  and  thy  hand  is  cold 

That  trembling  burned  upon  my  fevered  palm, 

Thy  lips  are  white  and  distant,  and  thy  soul  — 

I  search  it  vainly  in  the  blinding  dark. 

The  hour  is  past;  earth  and  its  hell  return  — 

Nay,  not  e'en  hell  —  that  hope  the  gods  deny! 

There  I  had  known  the  memory  of  thy  face. 

Now  that,  too,  fades,  and  o'er  my  soul  doth  surge. 

An  engulfing  flood  of  isolation  grim, 

A  sea  illimitable,  infinite, 

Sweeping  o'er  life's  drear  wrecks  and  treasures  fair, 

And  swallowing  all  alike  in  the  abyss, 

While  man,  who  thought  to  merge  his  own  life 

stream 

In  that  of  others,  finds  his  puny  strength 
Bowed  by  relentless  fate,  and  learns  at  last 
His  utter  and  eternal  loneliness. 


[60] 


SUNLIGHT  AND  SHADOW 

How  do  I  know  the  fulness  of  your  woe? 
Dear,  for  remembrance  of  those  other  hours 
Of  summer  sunshine  and  of  glowing  flowers 
We  laughed  together  in  the  long  ago. 

How  may  I  know  the  fulness  of  your  joy? 
Dear,  for  the  memory  of  those  other  years 
When  died  our  dream,  Illusion's  empty  toy, 
At  touch  of  stark-eyed  grief  that  knew  not  tears. 


[61] 


REVELATION 

A  moment  since  my  life  was  all  bare  prose, 

Saved  only  from  a  baser  sordidness 

By  that  light,  careless  laughter,  with  which  men 

Oft  seek  to  grace  earth's  dreary  commonplace, 

And  think  to  hide  their  poverty  of  soul. 

You  mocked  with  me,  and  hid  your  hungering  want 

'Neath  subtle  sallies  of  a  keenedged  wit, 

That  I  with  merry  jest  returned,  nor  dreamed 

How  the  gods  laughed  at  our  masked  comedy. 

Then,  as  the  soft,  still  magic  of  Night's  peace 

Began  to  shame  the  mockery  of  our  hearts 

Aching  with  too  much  merriment,  the  mask 

Slipped  from  your  soul,  and  as  I  saw  the  pain 

That  throbbed  within  your  eyes,  and  heard  your  voice 

In  tense,  strained  tones,  the  feverish  laughter  died, 

Frozen  with  horror  on  my  jesting  lips, 

And,  gazing  awed  and  humbled  on  those  depths 

My  shallow  selfishness  had  so  profaned, 

My  kneeling  soul  cried  out  to  yours,  "Forgive!" 

And  in  one  glance  whose  joy  seemed  keenest  pain, 

I  read  the  values  of  our  lives  anew, 

Heard  the  eternal  harmony  ring  clear, 

And  felt  the  perfect  poetry  of  your  love. 


[62] 


FROM  A  WINDOW 

The  jeweled  hills  lie  silent  'neath  the  stars, 

Spangled  with  fairy  gems;  the  city  sleeps, 

A  glittering  constellation  on  the  rim 

Of  the  still  waters  silvered  bright  with  bars 

Of  moonbeams  mirrored  in  translucent  deeps, 

Where  melting  ghost  lights  blend  with  shadows  dim. 

Peace  on  all  earth — peace  with  the  calm  of  Death 
In  cloud  dreams  drifting  o'er  the  hills'  dark  crest, 
In  moonkissed  flowers,  in  sigh  of  sea  born  air; 
Alone  the  ocean  draws  its  anguished  breath — 
Great  sobbing  heart  whose  longing  knows  no  rest, 
My  yearning  soul  has  found  her  echo  there! 


[63] 


TWO    PRAYERS 

One  day  in  sudden  anguish  of  despair 

Born  of  vain  hungering  for  a  dim  ideal, 

From  lips  long  mute  was  wrung  the  tortured  prayer 

For  strength  of  will  my  vision  to  reveal. 

But  even  ere  the  ringing  words  had  died, 
I  laughed  in  scorn  to  play  so  low  a  part, 
And  while  my  lips  still  prayed,  my  soul  denied, 
Knowing  no  God  so  great  as  mine  own  heart. 

And  proudly  cried  no  force  might  e'er  control 

That  destiny  which  I  alone  decreed 

By  strength  of  individual  mind  and  soul 

Which  knows  no  higher  power,  nor  feels  its  need. 

Such  was  my  faith — until  I  sought  to  bless 
Your  heart,  and  make  your  life  a  thing  divine; 
Then  once  again  I  knelt  in  humbleness 
To  pray  before  my  long  forgotten  shrine, 

And  knew  that  though  for  me  the  heavens  were  bare, 
For  you,  dear  heart,  must  dwell  in  worlds  above 
Some  purer  spirit  soul  to  hear  my  prayer, 
Since  none  but  God  were  worthy  of  your  love. 


[64] 


MOODS 

Ask  not,  dearest,  how  I  love  thee — 
Could  the  sky  lark  half  express 
Ecstasies  of  happiness, 
Surging  ever  clear  and  strong 
Through  melodious  maze  of  song, 
Swelling  heavenward  endlessly — 
Thou  wouldst  know  'tis  joy  to  love  thee. 

Ask  not,  dearest,  how  I  love  thee— 
Could  the  dew-kissed  flowers  that  turn 
Patient  eyes  to  heaven  and  yearn 
For  the  dawning  sun  to  give 
Light  and  strength  by  which  they  live 
Voice  their -prayer  more  trustfully — 
Thou  wouldst  know  'tis  faith  to  love  thee. 

Ask  not,  dearest,  how  I  love  thee— 
Could  the  ocean's  moan  confess 
All  the  bitter  loneliness, 
All  the  agonies  that  roll 
O'er  that  restless,  surging  soul 
Grasping  at  infinity — 
Thou  wouldst  know  'tis  grief  to  love  thee. 


[65] 


Ask  not,  dearest,  how  I  love  thee — 
Could  the  south  wind's  soft  caress 
Half  reveal  its  tenderness; 
Could  yon  stars  that  tranquil  shine 
Breathe  to  men  their  truth  divine, 
Strength  and  self-sufficiency — 
Thou  wouldst  know  'tis  peace  to  love  thee. 


MAN 

Calm  on  the  threshold  of  a  million  worlds, 
Alone  and  self-sufficient,  firm  he  stands 
And  clear  eyed  gazes  through  the  blinding  maze 
Of  rapine  wrought  by  Nature's  bloody  hands. 

To  him  alone  is  given  the  power  to  hear, 
'Neath  jarring  din,  the  Master's  harmony; 
He  only  acts  and  questions,  thinks  and  dares, 
And  through  the  finite,  grasps  infinity. 


[66] 


SOLITUDE 

Three  solitudes  of  soul:  one,  ecstasy — 
Gift  of  a  few  great  minds  who  stand  alone 
On  the  vast  threshold  of  eternity 
And  know  themselves  immortal,  as  the  sun, 
Scorning  the  winds  and  waters  tempest-blown, 
Knowing  his  soul  and  that  of  God  at  one, 
Pours  out  his  heart  to  all  infinity. 

Three  solitudes:  the  second  born  of  change, 

Common  to  all  men,  as  th'  inconstant  moon 

Must  ever  wander  through  the  heavens'  wide  range 

Of  glittering  constellations  numberless, 

Nor  ever  find,  though  singing  winds  may  croon 

Of  love,  and  sighing  waves  the  shores  caress, 

A  friendly  heart,  or  eyes  that  look  not  strange. 

Three  solitudes:  the  third  an  agony 
Of  loneliness  that  only  he  may  know 
Who  in  the  silent  deeps  of  ecstasy 
Leans  yearningly  on  some  beloved  heart, 
Yet  feels  a  boundless  sea  between  them  flow, 
Wide  as  the  endless  leagues  of  space  that  part 
The  closely  shining  stars  eternally. 


SEA   FOG 

Spirit  of  mist,  soul  of  the  infinite  sea, 

Pearl  hued  with  rainbow  tints  from  the  foam  of  the 

deep, 

Borne  by  the  wide,  free  winds  o'er  the  emerald  ocean, 
Clouding  the  blue  horizon  with  shadows  of  gray, 
Wrapping  the  sun  crowned  hills  in  a  mantle  of  purple 
Bordered  with  flames  of  gold  from  the  gleaming  West, 
Shrouding  from  cold  the  weary  heart  of  the  lowland, 
Stretching  o'er  valley  the  unfurled  wings  of  compassion, 
Stooping  in  tender  caress  o'er  the  crest  of  the  mountain, 
Breathing  the  blessing  and  balm  of  an  infinite  silence — 

E'en  so  my  thoughts,  soul  of  an  infinite  love, 
Tinted  with  opalescent  hues  of  the  rainbow — 
Radiant  fancies  of  rose,  and  joy  that  is  golden, 
Violet  regret,  and  the  gray  of  unutterable  sadness, 
Mother-of-pearl,  the  peace  and  hope  of  the  angels — 
Winged  with  the  winds  that  sweep  o'er  the  soul's  wide 

ocean, 

Stretch  through  the  mist  of  the  years  and  the  tear- 
dimmed  darkness, 
Folding  the  heights  and  the  depths  of  your  soul  in  a 

pity 
Voiceless  and  vast  as  the  sea  of  our  love's  deep  silence. 


[68] 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  SEA 

The  sun-blanched,  arid  waste  of  desert  sand 
Stretches  in  sullen  silence  to  the  rim 
Of  the  horizon,  where  the  barren  coast 
Melts  into  purple  nothingness;  the  sea, 
A  creeping,  fawning  monster,  cringing  crawls, 
In  gnawing  hunger  foaming  out  its  life 
On  the  dull  sands  that  hide  the  shattered  bulk 
Of  a  proud  vessel,  hurled  by  tropic  storm 
To  welter  in  the  blaze  of  glaring  beach. 
Long,  burning  years  her  stately  prow  has  lain 
Prostrated  on  the  shore,  till  pitying  winds 
That  once  had  softly  swelled  her  shining  sails, 
Strewed  o'er  the  lifeless  wreck  a  pall  of  sands 
To  hide  her  shame  from  the  all-searching  eye 
Of  the  proud  sun,  and  from  the  sea's  disdain, 
And  from  the  merciless  wrath  of  driving  storm 
That  sought  to  desecrate  her  lowly  grave. 
Silent  she  lies  there,  humbled  in  the  sands — 
And  yet,  a  restless  spirit  stirs  and  broods 
As  if  a  wandering  soul  still  yearned  for  peace, 
Driven  by  fate  upon  an  alien  shore, 
Yet  ever  longing  to  regain  its  own. 

And  now  the  fading  flower  of  golden  day 
Dies  in  the  cloudless  splendor  of  the  West — 
When  suddenly  a  giant  inky  hand 
Crumples  the  last  rose  petal  in  its  grasp, 
[69] 


Withering  its  fading  loveliness,  while  night 

Dims  the  horizon  with  her  veil  of  smoke, 

Doubling  the  distance,  and  the  inky  hand 

Rushes  o'er  heaven,  wiping  out  the  stars. 

The  bleak  sands  shiver  at  the  shuddering  cry 

Of  the  hoarse  ocean,  and  a  flood  of  fire 

Flames  through  the  heavens,  followed  by  the  crash 

Of  thundering  armies  and  of  battling  winds 

Warring  with  all  the  raging  elements. 

Once  more  the  black-hued  pit  of  night  is  riven 

With  shafts  of  lightning,  and  the  ravening  sea 

Tears  the  firm  sands  asunder,  and  unearths 

The  groaning  carcass  of  that  shattered  wreck 

Lying  so  stark  and  white  with  throbbing  fear 

Beyond  the  eager  reach  of  the  wild  surf. 

Only  a  moment  longer  lies  she  there — 

The  next,  she  hears  the  sea's  resistless  call, 

The  mocking  waves  loose  the  cold  bonds  of  years 

And  whirl  her  forth,  a  giddy,  staggering  thing, 

To  plunge  in  one  last  maddening  ecstasy, 

One  wild,  delirious  second  of  fierce  joy, 

With  the  old  freedom,  through  the  blinding  surge 

Of  hissing  salt,  and  stinging,  shrieking  blast. 
***** 

A  moment  later,  and  the  sea's  strong  arms 
Have  drawn  her  down,  down  in  a  close  embrace 
To  rest  forever  on  that  mighty  heart. 


THE  MATILIJA  POPPY 

The  garden  blossoms  with  a  thousand  hues 
Of  varied  flowers:  tender  mignonette, 
Tall,  flaming  cannas,  and  proud  hollyhocks, 
Amber,  and  rose,  and  purple;  heliotrope 
Scenting  the  fragrant  honeysuckle's  breath 
With  rarer  sweetness;  ivy  scarlet-tongued 
Crowning  the  lustre  of  the  gleaming  oak; 
Feathery  acacia,  star-eyed  marguerites, 
And  spangled  pansies  laughing  with  the  sun 
At  wind  blown  petals  of  the  crimson  rose. 

Yet  calm  amidst  this  wealth  of  radiant  bloom 
Glowing  with  joy  of  life — thou  stand'st  alone, 
Gleaming  in  regal  white.     An  alien  soul, 
Too  proud  to  heed  the  breath  of  passing  breeze 
And  fling  thy  heart's  full  fragrance  to  the  winds; 
Too  coldly  passionate  to  share  the  joy 
Of  roses  blushing  'neath  the  sun's  caress; 
Too  scornful  even  to  bend  thy  weary  head 
Beneath  the  scorching  heat  of  noontide's  ray, 
Thou  lean'st  in  glistening  pallor  'gainst  the  wall 
Of  cool  gray  stone,  disdainful  of  the  power 
That  withers  other  souls  less  frail  than  thou — 
Those  souls  from  whom  thy  very  purity 
Doth  isolate  thee  ever,  though  thy  heart 


Yearn  vainly  in  its  hopeless  solitude 

For  one  pure  spirit  it  may  claim  its  own. 
*  *  *  *  * 

Only  on  calm  nights  when  the  crooning  sea 

Hath  hushed  the  earth  to  rest  in  its  embrace, 

When  silver  moonbeams  kiss  the  dewy  eyes 

Of  dreaming  roses  cradled  in  soft  airs, 

When  sea  winds  steal  through  darkened  boughs  and 

wake 

A  thousand  mystic  harmonies  that  rouse 
Vain  love  and  old  desire  and  wild  unrest — 
Then,  from  the  shadowed  silence  of  the  pines, 
Sleepless  alone  among  the  slumbering  flowers, 
Thy  crystal  soul  doth  raise  expectant  eyes, 
Fearlessly  bright  with  holier  ecstasy, 
And  breathe  her  anguished  yearning  to  the  stars. 


[72] 


RESURRECTION 

Long  had  he  labored  through  the  weary  day, 
Only  to  turn  at  twilight  hopeless  eyes 
Upon  the  polished  form  of  gleaming  stone — 
The  proud  conception  of  a  giant  brain 
Perfected  with  the  skill  of  highest  Art. 
Yet  baffled  now  he  stood,  while  o'er  his  soul 
Waves  of  unutterable  emotion  surged, 
As  all  the  pent-up  longings  of  his  life, 
The  striving  toward  elusive,  dim  ideals, 
The  craving  to  express  unfathomed  truths 
And  voice  the  yearning  hope  of  all  the  world 
Clutched  at  his  heart  in  anguished  ecstasy 
And  cried  for  utterance.     But  the  figure  stood 
Serenely  still,  in  calm  tranquillity 
Of  crystal  white — a  form  without  a  soul. 
Then,  gazing  on  his  failure  leaden-eyed, 
The  sculptor  flung  aside  his  useless  tools, 
And,  huddled  on  the  floor  in  mute  despair, 
Blank  weariness  o'ercame  him,  and  he  slept. 

He  waked  to  find  the  darkened,  barren  room 
Brilliant  with  moonlight,  and  his  struggling  heart 
Soothed  with  a  strange,  deep  peace;  his  weary  brain 
Strong  in  the  sense  of  bold  creative  power. 
Then  leaping  up  he  seized  his  tools  again, 
And  with  a  genius-born  facility 

[73] 


Chiseled  the  anguish  of  his  heart's  despair 
In  gleaming  marble,  waxen  'neath  his  touch. 
Long  hours  he  worked  in  frenzied,  feverish  haste, 
Till,  as  the  walls  grew  rosy  hued  with  dawn, 
The  statue  stood  in  glistening  harmony — 
Beauty  of  soul  expressed  in  perfect  form. 
But  now  the  agile  hands  grew  numb  with  cold, 
And  o'er  his  face  a  ghastly  pallor  spread, 
His  limbs  turned  marble  with  rigidity, 
And  in  his  lustrous  eyes  the  glassy  stare 
Of  grim  Death  gazing  into  formless  void 
Effaced  the  glow  of  genius — and  of  life. 

Centuries  rolled  away,  till  even  his  name 

Died  in  the  clutch  of  the  relentless  years. 

Yet  Time,  whose  adamantine  hand  can  blot 

So  many  hopes,  so  many  fears  and  loves 

From  man's  frail  memory,  awestruck  bowed  her  head 

Before  the  grandeur  of  this  harmony 

Of  simple  beauty  and  gigantic  thought. 

Now,  far  in  alien  lands  the  statue  stood, 

"A  Grecian  Runner,"  famed  in  halls  that  held 

The  fairest  fragments  of  Hellenic  art. 

And  here  the  rude  crowd  often  stood  agape, 

Some  idly  staring,  some  indifferent, 

Some  wondering  at  the  grace  of  curve  and  line, 

Some  at  the  purity  of  tone,  and  some, 

Who  searched  more  deeply  than  the  common  eye 

[74] 


And  felt  a  broader,  keener  sympathy 

With  hopes  and  dreams'  illusions  and  despair 

Greater  than  their  small  hearts  might  ever  know, 

Pitied  the  mute  appeal  in  those  grave  eyes, 

And  gazing  at  the  sad,  expectant  face 

That  left  them  fearful  and  unsatisfied, 

Reverenced  the  soul  they  might  not  understand. 

Thus  through  the  weary  years  the  Greek  youth  stood, 

Crouched  low  with  nerves  astrain,  as  one  who  waits 

In  hushed  and  eager-eyed  expectancy 

For  some  miraculous  deliverance. 

It  came  at  last    One  summer  afternoon 

When  the  long  twilight  streaked  the  floors  with  gold, 

And  all  without  lay  white  in  throbbing  heat, 

Across  the  vibrant  hush  of  marbled  space 

There  rang  the  sound  of  footsteps,  as  alone 

A  solitary  artist  chanced  to  stray 

Into  the  dim  lit  corridor,  and  stand 

Leaning  against  the  column  opposite 

In  self-absorbed  reflection.     Suddenly 

The  sense  of  some  disturbing  element 

Jarred  the  calm  silence — the  compelling  dread 

Of  some  mysterious  external  force 

Gripped  at  his  heart,  and  though  the  solitude 

Remained  unbroken,  yet  his  trembling  soul 

Thrilled  with  the  consciousness  of  vital  power 

Of  some  invisible  presence.    Then  it  was 

[75] 


His  wild  eyes  roving  in  dumb  inquiry 
Caught  the  rapt  gaze  of  the  inspired  Greek: 
Alert  and  poised,  his  every  nerve  drawn  tense, 
The  marble  limbs  suffused  with  glow  of  youth, 
The  sightless  eyes  gleamed  with  a  strange  lost  light, 
And  as  his  being  glowed  with  conscious  power, 
The  struggling  soul,  imprisoned  in  the  stone, 
Yearning  in  vain  through  all  the  countless  years 
For  self-expression,  realized  its  hope 
In  flash  of  recognition,  as  once  more 
It  thrilled,  and  stirred,  and  breathed — a  living  thing! 


[76] 


NOON   IN   THE   SIERRA 

I 

Noon  floods  the  world  with  golden  quivering  light, 

Long  heat  waves  whiten  o'er  the  burning  plain, 

And  parched  winds  listless  droop  their  trembling  wings 

Fainting  from  very  weariness  of  life. 

No  sound,  no  motion  other  than  the  heat 

Throbbing  across  the  silence  of  the  pines 

That  sunward  soar,  erect  and  shadowless. 

A  wavering,  liquid  sea  of  molten  haze 

Purples  the  melting  curves  of  phantom  hills, 

Ethereal  ships  afloat  'twixt  earth  and  heaven. 

Above  the  hush  of  this  enchanted  land, 

A  lustrous  pearl  set  in  the  sapphire  sky, 

Gleams  lofty,  silent  Shasta,  glacier  crowned. 

Veiling  the  mountain  crest  the  pallid  clouds, 

Wan  with  their  wanderings  through  the  heat  of  noon, 

Furl  wearily  their  wings  and  patient  rest, 

Drawn  to  that  tender  heart  in  mute  embrace 

For  one  long  moment,  while  the  hurrying  hours 

Hang  breathlessly  suspended,  till  the  winds 

In  gentle  sadness  bear  the  cloud  souls  forth 

Dying,  to  fade  into  the  Infinite. 

I,  e'en  as  they,  feel  the  strong  hand  of  Time 

Checked  in  its  course,  'as  though  great  Nature's  heart 

Had  ceased  to  pulse,  and  every  moment's  gold, 

Hushed  by  the  soothing  spirit  of  thy  peace, 

Stretched  to  a  fathomless  eternity. 

[77] 


II 


Now,  gazing  northward  through  a  mist  of  dreams, 

I  seem  to  see  a  Grecian  temple  rise 

Fair  as  the  white  foamed  marble  that  once  crowned 

The  fairy  aisles  that  star  th'  JEgean's  blue. 

I  see  the  white  robed  priests  that  reverent  kneel, 

The  smoke  arising  from  the  sacrifice, 

The  cloud  winged  incense  rolling  heavenward, 

The  adoration  and  the  solemn  hush 

Of  those  who  stand  before  the  oracle 

Waiting  the  god's  dread  answer.     But  no  sound 

Disturbs  the  mystic,  sacred  solitude 

That  hallows  this  fair  temple.     Yet  to  those 

Whose  fevered  hearts  reach  out  through  wastes  of 

years, 

And  hunger  for  the  lost  ideals  of  Greece, 
Thy  single  purity  of  line  and  tone, 
Thy  simple  grandeur  and  thy  lofty  strength, 
Thy  smiling  calm,  thy  still  serenity, 
Breathe  silent  words  of  comfort  and  of  hope. 

Ill 

Slowly  the  vision  fades,  till  even  sight 

Is  blinded  in  the  golden  glare  of  noon. 

And  now  the  phantom  mountain  seems  to  stir 

With  vibrant  sound,  as  swelling  harmonies, 

Sonorous  chords  of  long  forgotten  worlds, 

[78] 


Peal  through  the  voiceless  stretches  of  the  pines. 
Calm  with  a  faith  beyond  all  reach  of  doubt, 
Pure  with  a  joy  beyond  all  fear  of  pain, 
Deeper  than  man's  sublimest  thought  of  love, 
The  ringing  tones  of  the  triumphal  chant 
Reecho*  through  the  vastness  of  the  hills. 


IV 


And  now  the  music  dies,  lost  in  the  void 

Of  all-engulfing  Silence,  fathomless. 

Light  fades,  sound  vanishes,  the  earth  dissolves, 

And  conscious  being  ceases,  as  the  soul, 

Absorbed  in  the  primeval  giant  force 

Of  the  vast  mountain,  soars  through  boundless  space 

Into  the  freedom  of  the  Infinite. 


[79] 


SUNRISE  OVER  SHASTA 

Once  only  have  I  stood  at  the  world's  rim 
Where  Night  and  Morning  meet,  and  watched  the 

Dawn 

Ride  over  Darkness.  .  .  .  Far  below,  the  hills 
Dropped  into  purple  blackness,  as  the  moon 
That  once  had  silvered  pine  and  river  foam, 
Wearily  wan,  paled  with  the  paling  stars, 
Bright  opals  fading  in  the  amber  east, 
And  hid  her  face  in  veil  of  pearl-winged  cloud. 
Star-fingered  Silence  held  the  slumbering  world 
In  solemn  stillness,  and  the  forest  harps 
Responsive  to  the  touch  of  wandering  winds 
With  strains  of  wild,  mysterious  harmony, 
Grandly  majestic,  whispering  wistfully, 
Lay  hushed  and  voiceless  as  the  wonted  call 
Of  dreaming  song  birds;  through  the  silent  dark 
One  sound  alone  made  silence  yet  more  deep: 
As  organ  tones,  vibrating  through  the  hush 
Of  saints'  communion,  fill  the  reverent  heart 
With  deeper  solitude  and  mystery, 
So  now  through  canons  dim  and  fathomless 
The  music  of  the  emerald-foamed  McCloud, 
Glimmering  faint  athwart  the  sombre  pines, 
Sang  through  the  lonely  silence  of  the  hills. 


Far  to  the  north,  a  sea  of  billowy  mist, 

Tinged  with  the  violet  light  of  brightening  dawn, 

Stretched  o'er  the  formless  void  of  ridge  and  cliff 

And  wide  expanse  of  plain,  to  veil  the  eyes 

Of  dark  cowled  worshippers  that  reverent  knelt 

At  the  proud  mountain's  foot,  lest  they  should  see 

The  great  transfiguration,  and  profane 

The  heavenly  vision  hid  from  human  sight. 

Above  the  purple-shadowed  waves  of  mist, 

Strong  with  the  calm  of  conquered  agony, 

Scarred  with  an  anguish  deep  beyond  all  tears, 

Sky  towering  in  majestic  solitude, 

Serenely  silent  with  the  peace  of  Death, 

Eternal  Shasta,  humanly  sublime, 

Soaring  through  darkness,  fearless  faced  the  dawn. 

Then  as  I  gazed  across  that  sea  of  space, 
The  spirit  mountain  stirred  with  quivering  sigh, 
The  snow-crowned  summit  flushed  with  rosy  glow, 
A  tongue  of  fire  flamed  down  the  eastern  ridge, 
Flashed  westward,  lightning-pronged,  and  ringed  the 

peak 

With  circling  diamonds,  till  the  glacial  heart 
Of  the  old  crater  burned  anew  with  life, 
As  all  the  pent-up  passion    of  the  years, 
The  smouldering  hope,  the  silent  agony, 


[81] 


The  wild  regret  of  youth,  the  mute  despair, 
Burst  into  one  fierce  flood  of  blinding  fire. 

Then,  standing  spellbound  on  the  mountain  rim, 

I  saw  invisible  spirits  silent  part 

The  luminous  veil  that  lay  across  the  night, 

And  watched  the  tall  Crags  crimson  with  the  dawn. 

But  as  the  daybreak  tinged  the  hills  with  gold, 

Proud  Shasta,  calm  in  crystal  purity, 

Gleamed  isolate  as  in  the  noonday  sun. 


[82] 


IN  AN  ART  GALLERY 


Here  fades  the  glaring  light  of  garish  day, 

The  deafening  tumult  of  the  sordid  mart, 

The  weariness  of  all  the  wrinkled  world, 

And,  straying  through  these  hallowed  corridors, 

I  breathe  the  fragrance  of  a  purer  life, 

And  walk  with  gods  and  heroes  .  .  .  Lone  and 

proud 

Stands  bold  Achilles,  gripping  firm  his  shield, 
As  he  would  breathe  defiance  e'en  of  Jove. 
And  here  another  glorious  champion, 
Who  wrested  Athens  from  the  Tyrant's  clutch, 
Aristogeiton,  with  his  giant  arm 
Outstretched  in  mute  appeal,  and  in  his  eyes 
The  glowing  rapture  of  a  god's  great  strength, 
The  shining  tenderness  of  suffering  man. 


II 


Soft  from  the  shadow  steals  a  nymph,  with  eyes 
Translucent  as  the  deeps  of  emerald  pool 
Where  she  disports  amongst  the  shimmering  rays 
Of  sunlight  filtering  through  the  forest  leaves 
In  mystic  glades,  where  mingling  light  and  shade 
Blend  in  eternal  twilight.     On  this  bank, 
Worn  with  the  very  joy  of  fulsome  life, 

[83] 


A  sleeping  faun  has  flung  himself  to  rest. 

How  quietly  he  breathes!     What  dreamless  joy! 

And  on  the  careless  brow  what  innocence 

Of  toiling,  haggard  man's  morality! 

Tread  lightly  lest  he  wake  in  sudden  fright 

At  contact  of  a  presence  so  profane, 

And  vanish  in  the  stillness  of  the  wood. 


Ill 


Onward  I  pass,  and  now  the  golden  dusk 

Reverently  veils  in  pitying  tenderness 

The  shattered,  crumbling  bulk  of  ruined  walls, 

And  ashen  wreck  of  temples  hoar  and  old, 

Fair  fragments  of  a  lost  antiquity. 

And  yet — not  lost!     For  through  the  marble 

breathes 

The  soul  of  ancient  Greece,  and  every  line 
Dreams  an  ideal  perfection,  every  tone 
Weaves  through  the  crumbling  whole  a  harmony, 
As  waves  of  varying,  chaotic  sound 
Blend  in  the  music  of  a  perfect  note. 
Thus,  through  the  maze  of  this  discordant  wreck, 
The  artist  sees  the  form  complete,  divine, 
And  in  the  marred  ideal,  the  human  heart 
Reads  the  fulfillment  of  its  dearest  hope, 
The  revelation  of  its  highest  truth — 
That  Beauty  rails  at  Death,  and  knows  no  dread 
Of  Time,  the  great  Destroyer,  for  her  life 
[84] 


Depends  not  on  the  outward,  transient  form 

Through  which  her  spirit  breathes:  a  ray  of  light, 

Kindling  the  fancy,  dwells  within  the  brain, 

Gilding  each  object  that  the  eye  beholds, 

Though  lost  in  blackest  night;  a  solemn  tone 

Of  music,  echoing  all  along  the  heart, 

Sings,  though  dissolved  in  silence;  and  the  hush 

That  follows  prayer  is  pregnant  with  the  cries 

Of  longing  souls  that,  still  unsatisfied, 

Yearn  toward  the  Infinite.     E'en  so  the  soul 

Of  Beauty  must  transcend  thj  external  mould 

In  which  'tis  cast,  and,  varying  ceaselessly, 

Through  endless  forms  shall  rise  to  vaster  heights 

Beyond  the  touch  of  Time,  or  Pain,  or  Death, 

Greater  than  Art,  surviving  its  decay, 

And  breathing  through  the  shattered  wreck  of  years 

The  glorious  hope  of  immortality. 

IV 

Lo,  through  the  shadowed  arches  of  the  hall, 
I  see  the  white  robed  Cariatydes, 
Their  trailing  vestments  purpled  in  the  flush 
Of  crimson  sunset  jewelling  the  dome. 
And  now  the  shadows  fade  and  all  the  world 
Golden  with  noonday  calls  me  as  I  stand 
High  on  the  art  adorned  Acropolis 
Crowning  all  Greece  with  glory.     Far  below 

[85] 


Lies  white  roofed  Athens,  glimmering  as  a  pearl 

Ringed  with  the  diamond  sparkle  of  the  surf 

Where  sands  of  gold  and  sea  of  amethyst 

Mingle  together.    To  the  north  the  hills 

Green  with  the  mystic  gray  of  olive  leaves 

Silvering  before  the  wind,  melt  far  away 

Into  the  sapphire  of  a  cloudless  sky. 

Close  at  my  side  rise  proud  Olympian  forms, 

Before  whose  glance  I  bow  my  head  in  awe 

Not  of  the  gods'  but  man's  divinity, 

Who  can  create  himself  gods  so  divine. 

And  here  the  clear  eyed  Cariatydes 

So  still — ah,  still  as  everlasting  Death, 

Gaze  through  the  silent  haze  of  golden  noon. 


What  may  that  constant  clear  eyed  gaze  beheld? 

The  rosy  flush  of  morn  that  fires  the  east 

With  flames  of  crimson  over  Asia's  coast, 

Streaking  the  purple  sea  with  bands  of  gold, 

And  gilding  crystal  Delos,  the  dread  isle 

That  holds  Apollo's  sacred  oracle? 

The  southern  waves  that  kiss  Cythera's  shores, 

Where  foam-bespangled  Aphrodite  rose 

Out  of  the  sea  with  beauty  of  the  gods? 

The  Herculean  Pillars  of  the  west 

That  front  the  sunset,  far  beyond  the  sight 

[86] 


Of  mortal  man  in  distant  Sicily? 

Yea,  all  of  this — yet  infinitely  more! 

For  in  that  clear  eyed  gaze  I  seem  to  see 

The  eyes  of  Fate  that  pierce  through  wastes  of 

years — 

Unpitying,  remorseless,  yet  serene, 
Calm  in  serenity  that  knows  not  fear, 
Nor  hate  nor  love,  nor  hope  nor  vain  despair, 
Nor  justice — for  such  passions  are  of  men — 
The  great  gods'  hearts  are  sealed  and  feel  them  not. 
So  ye,  too,  stand,  and  gaze  across  the  world 
With  wide,  grave  eyes  that  neither  smile  nor  weep, 
Discerning  joy  and  grief,  laughter  and  tears, 
Justice  and  wrong,  great  Good  and  greater  111, 
And  Life  and  Death  immutably  as  one, 
And  all  things  bounded  by  Eternity. 


NECESSITY 

The  gay  trees  sing: 
"The  Spring!  the  Spring! 
With  her  flowers  that  fling 
Their  souls  to  the  sky! 
And  the  golden  gleam 
Of  the  sunlight's  beam 
In  the  dancing  stream 

Where  the  shadows  lie!" 

*  *  *  * 

But  the  songs  that  wing 

Where  the  wide  woods  ring, 

Were  born  of  the  whisp'ring  wind's  soft  sigh. 

The  gaunt  trees  groan: 
"Alone,  alone, 
We  sob  and  moan 
For  the  summer  past, 
For  our  golden  crown 
Of  leaves  whirled  down, 
For  the  furrowed  frown 

Of  the  skies  aghast." 

*  *  *  * 

But  the  haunting  tone 

That  they  deemed  their  own, 

Was  only  the  wild  wind's  shrieking  blast. 


[88] 


TO  DOROTHY 

Do  you  remember,  dear,  that  far  off  day — 

A  hundred  thousand  years  ago  it  seems, 

And  yet  it  stands  out  clear  through  misty  dreams 

Of  other  hours  we  then  esteemed  no  less  — 

I  asked  you  to  come  home  with  me  and  play. 

I  was  not  six  and  you  were  barely  eight. 

We  little  thought  it  was  the  hand  of  Fate 

Had  drawn  us  there  our  future  lives  to  bless! 

Do  you  remember,  dear,  our  golden  tales 
In  French  of  dream  world  children,  far  more  real 
Than  all  our  dolls  that  we  could  touch  and  feel 
Although  we  loved  them  too;  do  you  recall 
Those  days  of  sandy  lots  and  red  tin  pails, 
Those  anxious  walks  across  the  long  white  hill 
That  lay  between  us,  and  the  sudden  thrill 
Of  joy  to  hear  the  dear,  familiar  call? 

Do  you  remember,  dear,  our  summer  home, 
The  gray  rocks  where  the  sea  waves  kiss  the  sand, 
And  how  we  wandered  barefoot,  hand  in  hand, 
The  salt  spray  dashing  in  our  eyes  like  rain, 
And  chased  the  scudding  balls  of  snow-white  foam? 


[89] 


And  how  at  sunset,  as  we  turned  to  go, 

We  silent  stood  to  watch  the  afterglow 

With  longing  vague  we  could  not  quite  explain? 

You  always  seemed  to  me  so  big  and  strong: 
'Twas  you  who  scaled  the  rocks,  and  built  the  fort, 
And  you  again  invented  each  new  sport — 
You,  in  my  eyes,  a  great  heroic  boy; 
To  gain  your  strength  and  skill  I'd  often  long. 
I  still  recall  the  day  when,  weak  and  shy, 
I  shrank  away,  when  first  I  heard  you  cry, 
Dreading  to  miss  your  sparkling  glance  of  joy. 

Do  you  remember,  dear,  one  afternoon 

We  wandered  down  from  school  along  the  sea, 

And  while  the  blue  waves  sang  unceasingly 

We  read  the  poetry  that  we  loved  best? 

Do  you  remember  how,  when  springtime's  moon 

Silvered  the  meadow  and  the  Mesa  steep, 

For  love  of  Night  we'd  leave  all  thought  of  sleep 

To  count  the  constellations  in  the  West? 

Do  you  remember,  dear,  the  music  sweet 
On  Sunday  evenings  when  the  lights  were  low, 
And  all  was  still  except  the  dancing  glow 
That  played  o'er  walls  and  faces  from  the  fire, 


[90] 


And  all  was  silent  but  our  hearts  that  beat? 
A  simple  slumber  song  in  those  past  years 
Could  blind  our  eyes  with  rush  of  stinging  tears 
And  rouse  our  hearts  to  passionate  desire. 

Do  you  remember,  dear,  the  song  we  wrote — 
That  school  song  which  should  all  our  heart 

contain — 

And,  when  they  sang  it  first,  the  anxious  strain, 
The  moment's  pride,  the  thrill  of  happiness? 
Since  then  I've  striven  to  reach  a  higher  note, 
But  never  held  achievement  half  so  dear 
As  when  you  worked  with  me  to  render  clear 
A  loyalty  no  words  could  e'er  confess. 

Do  you  remember,  dear,  the  greater  joys 
We  found  on  meeting  after  months  apart, 
The  blessedness  of  talking  heart  to  heart 
And  knowing  all  as  it  had  been  of  old, 
Only  our  friendship  deeper — for  the  toys, 
The  childish  dreams,  the  little  griefs  and  fears 
Had  fled,  and  left  a  love  which  other  years 
Of  God's  eternity  shall  all  unfold. 


Do  you  remember,  dear,  that  last  sweet  night 
You  lay  within  my  arms  and  banished  sleep 
For  fear  of  the  awakening,  while  the  deep 
Still  dark  the  sacred  moments  softly  stole, 
Till  suddenly  the  dreaded  shaft  of  light 
Crimsoned  the  eastern  casement  with  the  dawn, 
And  silently  we  watched  the  breaking  morn 
Lest  words  should  mar  our  ecstasy  of  soul? 

Ah,  dear,  these  memories,  fraught  with  joy  and  pain, 
So  sweet,  so  sad,  so  burdened  with  the  ache 
Of  unshed  tears  that  fain  my  heart  would  break 
With  longing  for  your  smile  through  lashes  wet, 
Yearning  to  hold  you  in  my  arms  again! 
Your  soul  is  mine  in  absence — but  the  touch 
Of  hands  and  lips — I  feel  their  need  too  much! 
My  will  is  brave — my  heart  will  not  forget! 


[92] 


TO  MY  FATHER 

Dearest,  I  fain  would  seek,  this  Christmas  tide, 
Some  little  gift  that  might  express  my  love — 
A  tiny  stream  that  ever  seeks  its  home, 
The  mighty  ocean  of  your  greater  love 
That  gave  me  life  and  blessed  my  every  hour; 
And,  seeking,  I  have  thought  the  truest  gift 
Would  be  a  portion  of  my  very  heart, 
Could  I  express  it:  this  I  send  to  you 
And  pray  you,  for  your  own  sweet  sympathy 
That  makes  all  life  a  joy  and  love  divine, 
That  you  forgive  all  its  unworthiness. 

For  how  may  I  express  in  any  verse 

A  thought  transcending  all  philosophies, 

Containing  all  the  poetry  of  the  world; 

A  thought  too  high  for  words,  too  deep  for  tears, 

Wider  than  life,  and  stronger  e'en  than  death? 

Together  we  have  seen  a  fairer  glow, 

A  nobler  light  o'er  mountain,  hill  and  sea 

Than  any  artist's  brush  might  imitate; 

Together  we  have  hearkened  to  the  sound 

Of  music  that  has  stirred  the  heart  with  joy 

And  thrilled  the  struggling  soul  with  ecstasy 

Of  aspiration;  but  the  deepest  song 

Is  that  immortal,  voiceless  harmony 

That  sings  to  each  within  his  inmost  soul. 

So  there  are  thoughts  that  lie  beyond  all  words, 

[93] 


Far  too  divine  for  utterance;  to  touch 
Th'  eternity  of  silence  where  they  dwell 
Were  profanation  of  life's  holiest. 

And  yet  'tis  man's  fatality  to  seek 

Expression  for  the  inexpressible; 

E'en  so  for  untold  years  men  vainly  sought 

To  name  the  source  of  all  their  deepest  joy, 

The  highest  aspiration  of  their  souls, 

The  great  Unseen  that  lies  beneath  the  show 

Of  visible  form,  eternal,  infinite, 

The  perfect  Beauty  and  the  perfect  Love; 

But  not  one  name  of  any  single  race 

Might  satisfy  the  hunger  of  their  souls, 

Until  the  Christ,  whose  universal  mind 

Could  comprehend  the  craving  of  the  world, 

Of  all  the  feeble  words  the  tongues  of  men 

Had  ever  fashioned,  chose  the  most  sublime, 

And  called  God,  "Father!" 


[94l 


Sonnets 


SONNETS 

Dear  heart,  your  love  has  led  me  to  this  hour 

From  the  beginning — not  the  moment  blest 

When  first  I  saw  you,  and  your  eyes  confessed 

The  beauty  and  the  magic  of  love's  power; 

But  from  that  instant,  far  beyond  all  Time, 

When  first  the  voice  of  God  breathed  o'er  the  deep, 

Rousing  all  Nature  from  her  deathlike  sleep, 

And  in  His  image  moulding  life  sublime. 

From  that  same  instant  have  our  hearts  been  one, 

Immutably  the  same,  and  in  my  grief 

I  turned  to  thy  dear  love  for  woe's  relief 

And  through  the  darkness  saw  in  thee  my  sun. 

Yea,  e'en  when  dark  Despair  my  faith  had  riven, 

Found  in  thy  spotless  soul  the  peace  of  Heaven. 


[97] 


Not  Death  himself  can  hold  our  lives  apart, 

For  when  thou'rt  absent,  still  I  ever  seem 

To  feel  thy  presence  in  the  summer's  dream 

Of  golden  glory,  and  thy  tender  heart 

Calls  unto  mine  across  the  depths  of  Night, 

Voiceless  and  fathomless,  and  from  afar 

The  fiery  splendor  of  yon  lonely  star 

Gleams  with  a  radiance  no  other  light 

Than  thy  clear  eyes  may  shed;  in  every  flower 

I  breathe  thy  spirit's  fragrance,  all  the  while 

The  rose  blooms  sweeter  for  my  dearest's  smile, 

Striking  as  sun  athwart  the  leafy  bower. 

It  seems  the  very  thunder  of  the  sea 

Had  caught  the  echo  of  love's  mystery. 


[98] 


Whene'er  I  gaze  upon  a  landscape  rare 

Of  wondrous  beauty,  or  I  chance  to  hear 

A  melody  unutterable  yet  clear, 

As  God-inspired,  I  feel  that  thou  must  share 

In  my  soul's  ecstasy,  because  thy  soul 

Is  wedded  so  to  mine,  and  all  thy  thought 

So  fraught  with  loveliness,  that  surely  naught 

Of  beauty  can  without  thee  form  a  whole. 

So  when  I  enter  in  some  holy  place 

I  need  but  to  reach  out  to  touch  thy  hand, 

For  thou  with  me  hast  entered  this  dim  land 

Transcending  common  bounds  of  finite  space, 

And  though  thy  loving  face  I  may  not  see, 

I  still  must  feel  thy  spirit's  sympathy. 


[99] 


When  at  the  close  of  day  I  reverent  kneel 
To  offer  my  petition  at  God's  shrine. 
All  of  the  human  in  this  love  of  thine 
Is  merged  completely  in  the  great  ideal, 
And  yet  not  lost;  for  in  that  awful  hour 
When  individual  consciousness  must  melt 
Before  that  vaster  Spirit  which  is  felt 
To  animate  all  life  with  mystic  power, 
The  knowledge  of  thy  love  is  as  a  fire 
Consuming  all  life's  dross,  a  beacon  bright 
Flaming  beyond  my  reach  upon  some  height 
Toward  which  all  yearning  hearts  in  fear  aspire, 
A  light  gloom-piercing,  whose  revealing  ray 
Shines  ever  more  unto  the  perfect  day. 


[100] 


If  I  would  find  a  proof  for  the  belief, 
So  strong  within  me,  that  the  soul  of  man 
Has  something  of  divine,  despite  the  ban 
Of  sin  and  suffering  which  defy  relief; 
If  I  should  seek  to  show  the  yearning  cry 
Of  human  hearts  throughout  the  ages  long 
Is  but  the  minor  plaint  of  some  vast  song 
Sure  of  fulfillment,  nevermore  to  die 
And  fade  to  nothingness;  or  would  I  rout 
The  torturing  thoughts  that  oft  beset  my  soul, 
Making  me  long  to  grasp  life's  curious  whole, 
Or  to  deny,  that  I  may  cease  to  doubt; 
Or  would  I  prove  man's  immortality, 
I  need  remember  but  my  love  for  thee. 


THE  IDEALIST 

If  the  Ideal  at  which  men  wrongly  jeer 
Because  they  have  not  wings  to  soar  from  earth, 
Nor  minds  nor  hearts  to  grasp  the  dreamer's  worth 
And  rightly  judge  the  thoughts  he  holds  most  dear — 
If  this  Ideal  be  all  you  seem  to  fear 
For  my  rash  heart — a  means  whereby  the  dearth 
Of  love  and  truth  are  manifest,  the  birth 
Of  many  a  heartache,  many  a  bitter  tear — 

E'en  though  I  dreamed  your  warning  words  were 

truth, 

E'en  though  I  thought  I  ne'er  might  reach  the  goal, 
E'en  though  I  knew  the  cost  were  my  life  blood — 
Still,  for  this  hope  I'd  sacrifice  my  youth, 
For  this  vain  dream  I'd  stake  my  very  soul, 
And  bear  my  broken,  trusting  heart  to  God. 


[102] 


SONNET 

I  love  thee  not!    E'en  so  the  greater  part 

Of  men  must  judge  me;  yet  I  wrongly  thought, 

Although  the  end  with  bitterness  were  fraught, 

Thou  couldst  not  so  misjudge  a  true  friend's  heart. 

Ah,  well,  'tis  best  to  know  that  what  I  deem 

Love's  sacrifice,  thou  wilt  not  value  more 

Than  all  the  foolish  gifts  love  gave  before; 

'Tis  but  the  shattering  of  one  other  dream. 

I  take  thy  hand — why  should  we  speak  of  pride 

In  this  last  moment?    For  a  little  while 

I  still  may  gaze  into  thine  eyes  and  smile, 

Though  knowing  that  the  heart  within  has  died. 

And  now — farewell.    Pray  God  thou'lt  never  know 

How  true  the  love  that  can  thy  love  forego! 


SONNET 

That  spirit  choir  of  immortal  song 
Who  touch  each  human  heart  of  every  age 
Through  color,  harmony,  or  mystic  page, 
Revealing  the  ideals  for  which  men  long — 
Those  souls,  in  close  communion  with  our  own 
Though  all  unseen,  must  know  beyond  all  word 
How  their  great  truths  have  moulded  ours,  and 

stirred 

Our  thought  to  heights  without  them  still  unknown. 
But  to  those  others  bound  to  us  by  ties 
Of  flesh  and  blood,  whose  patient  gentleness, 
Whose  faith  and  courage  have  a  power  to  bless 
As  great  as  in  creative  genius  lies, 
We  never  may  express  how  they  have. given 
Our  souls  new  love  to  draw  them  nearer  Heaven. 


[104] 


SONNET 

How  do  I  know  that  this  strange  love  I  feel 
Is  something  truly  vital  in  my  life? 
'Tis  certain  other  loves  are  far  more  real 
That  have  endured  through  years  of  change  and 

strife ; 

'Tis  certain  other  hearts  are  far  more  dear 
Whose  strings  accord  with  mine  through  every  tone 
Of  life's  vast,  varying  symphony;  more  near 
Those  souls  which  smiles  and  tears  have  proved  my 

own. 

You  do  not  share  my  joy  or  agony — 
Yet — when  I  walk  alone  by  wooded  streams, 
An  unseen  presence  calms  and  strengthens  me, 
Your  spirit  shines  through  all  my  waking  dreams, 
And  when  I  would  my  inmost  soul  express, 
I  pray  God  you  may  know  that  happiness. 


[105] 


THE  ARTIST 

Sometimes  the  dread  assails  me  lest  my  Art 
Become  too  all-absorbing;  lest  I  lose 
Sincerity  in  words,  and  falsely  choose 
Of  all  life's  high  ideals  the  lesser  part, 
Being  content  these  joys  and  griefs  to  take 
Merely  as  moods  to  grace  a  facile  pen, 
These  ties  that  bind  my  heart  to  other  men, 
As  sacred  for  their  sole  expression's  sake. 

Yet,  when  I  look  into  thine  eyes,  I  find 

A  thought  which  all  my  powers  doth  far  o'erreach, 

A  love  too  holy  to  profane  with  speech, 

A  soul  whose  depth  transcends  the  artist  mind. 

And  once  again  with  common  men  I  feel 

The  glory  of  an  unexpressed  ideal. 


[106] 


SONNETS 

Because  your  thoughts  have  made  my  flowers  more 

fair, 

My  sun  more  golden  and  my  heaven  more  blue, 
Have  made  me  feel  that  Nature  still  is  true 
Beneath  the  hostile  frown  she  oft  doth  wear; 
Because  your  song  has  taught  my  lips  to  sing 
With  gladness,  that  were  dumb;  because  your  heart 
Divined  the  secret  of  life's  highest  Art — 
Beauty  is  touch  of  cloud  in  everything — 
Because  your  faith  has  raised  me  from  the  cares 
Of  blackest  Doubt  to  Hope's  all  radiant  beams, 
Revealed  the  truth  of  all  my  fading  dreams, 
Inspired  my  loves  and  purified  my  prayers; 
Because  your  trust  in  man's  divinity 
Has  saved  my  soul,  I  give  my  all  to  thee. 


[H>7] 


My  all — and  yet  how  little!    How  should  I 

Weak  as  I  am,  yet  deem  my  will  so  strong 

That  it  might  shield  from  any  touch  of  wrong 

One  who  is  far  above  me  as  the  sky? 

Yet  if  'tis  true,  as  thou  will'st  e'er  believe, 

That  each  of  us  is  but  a  feeble  ray 

Of  the  great  Over  Soul,  and  if  we  may 

In  our  dark  hearts  this  light  of  God  receive, 

Why  then,  the  simplest  prayer  can  never  fall 

Unheeded  through  the  void  of  space,  alone, 

Unanswered — for  can  God  reject  His  own? 

Ah,  surely  he  must  hear  my  heartfelt  call — 

The  highest  aspiration  that  is  mine — 

That  He  will  bless  and  keep  thy  life  divine! 


[108] 


To  share  thy  life?    Ah,  'tis  not  that  I  ask! 

For  I  would  have  thee  free  as  is  the  wind 

And  ignorant  of  all  these  ties  that  bind 

The  soaring  soul  to  earth  appointed  task. 

My  heart  is  far  too  weak  to  claim  a  share 

In  aught  thou  may'st  accomplish,  for  thy  love 

Is  fixed  on  radiant  visions  far  above — 

Thou  walk'st  with  angels  in  a  heaven  more  fair. 

Yet  in  thy  solitude  thou'rt  not  alone 

But  rather  art  become  a  lesser  part 

Of  the  World  Spirit— of  that  mighty  heart 

Which  breathing  through  all  life  makes  all  men  one. 

Thine  is  the  power  that  glory  to  reveal — 

I  can  but  dimly  worship  thine  ideal! 


[109] 


SONNET 

As  one  who  in  some  dim  cathedral  kneels, 
The  long  aisles  shadowed  with  the  close  of  day, 
And  kneeling,  sense  benumbed,  too  weak  to  pray, 
While  chilling  dark  through  columned  marble  steals, 
Heartsick  and  soul  bewildered,  wondering  feels 
An  unknown  peace  his  weariness  allay, 
As  o'er  the  void  of  silence,  far  away, 
Deep  toned  as  night,  the  sea  voiced  organ  peals — 

So  through  the  shadowed  spaces  of  my  heart, 
The  hallowed  vastness  where  I  kneel  alone, 
While  round  about  the  seas  of  darkness  roll, 
There  floods  a  harmony  from  earth  apart, 
As  o'er  the  silent  deeps  of  monotone 
Reverberates  the  music  of  thy  soul. 


[no] 


r 


